


When the Dust Has Settled

by halcyon1993



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armpit Kink, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Coming Out, Consent Issues, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Matchmaker Peter, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Oral Sex, Pack Bonding, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Post-Season/Series 02, Rimming, Romantic Derek, Self-Acceptance, Sexuality Crisis, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Top Derek Hale, Werewolf Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 98,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon1993/pseuds/halcyon1993
Summary: After the night in the warehouse, relationships are strained and everyone is unsure where they stand. Stiles is angry at his best friend and doesn't know why his thoughts are being taken up more and more by a certain Sourwolf. Derek also doesn't know why Scott's betrayal isn't as painful as the prospect of Stiles knowing about it. As they try to mend fences and acclimate Jackson to life as a werewolf, both discover that there may be more to their feelings than they are willing to admit.





	1. Clearing the Air

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place right at the end of season 2 and will be reasonably lighthearted and fluffy. This started as a PWP prompt about Derek being unwilling to have sex with Stiles while he is still a minor and Stiles employing dirty tricks to get Derek to change his mind. But of course, I turned it into something longer and more plot-heavy. ~~It should be 10-15 chapters long.~~ lol

_\- Saturday, April 9th, 2011 -_

It happens after Gerard is taken care of and Jackson is no longer wreaking havoc on Beacon Hills as a kanima. As the new werewolf and Lydia leave the warehouse happily in love, Derek sees the bruises on Stiles' face and seems shockingly concerned, although he tries to hide it. It confuses Stiles greatly; he thought Derek only tolerated him at best and at worst hated him, but he can tell that the little crease currently between the alpha's eyebrows isn't caused by annoyance.

Stiles holds Derek's gaze for an unmeasurable amount of time, until Scott comes up to him and pokes his shoulder.

Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from Derek and turns to his friend, annoyed. "What?"

"Ali and I are leaving," Scott tells him, barely even looking at him.

"That's nice," Stiles snarks.

"See you later."

With that, Scott lopes over to where Allison waits awkwardly with her dad and the trio exits the warehouse, too. Stiles watches them go and feels a small sense of betrayal. He can't exactly hide the huge bruise on his cheek and Scott didn't seem to notice it at all. Even _Derek_ noticed.

With a disappointed shake of his head, Stiles turns back toward the man and is startled to see that the barely concealed concern that was previously on Derek's face has been replaced by raw anger. And it's directed at him. Stiles quickly looks away again, having been the recipient of enough negative emotions that night. He wonders why Derek suddenly looks so furious and bites at his bottom lip, only to wince when he is painfully reminded of the split in the middle of it—a consequence of the negative emotions he wants to avoid now.

Ignoring the alpha, Stiles walks to his Jeep and slides behind the wheel. He sends up a prayer that it still works after what he put it through earlier and breathes a sigh of relief when the engine starts with minimal trouble. As he backs out of the warehouse, Stiles can't stop himself from looking for Derek one last time.

He doesn't know why he is saddened when he sees that the wolf has already left.

* * *

_\- Saturday, April 16th, 2011 -_

It takes a week for Stiles' dad to let him out of the house for anything other than school. Even though he understands that his dad's hovering is caused by worry and overprotectiveness and not distrust, Stiles is glad to have his freedom back. The first thing he does is pull over to the side of the road and call Scott to ask if he wants to meet up to talk. Stiles is still annoyed at his best friend, for a lot of things, really. Going behind his back and colluding with the man who kidnapped and tortured him, Erica and Boyd, for one. Constantly ditching him and breaking plans to hang out with Allison instead, for another.

But Stiles wants to hash out their problems and move past them.

Unfortunately, Scott doesn't pick up, not even when Stiles calls him a couple more times. Since it seems like his supposed best friend is still oblivious, Stiles tosses his phone on the passenger seat and attempts to come up with something else to do. He doesn't want to go back home already, not when it was such a fight to get his dad to let him leave. That would be humiliating.

Perhaps checking up on Lydia is an option. Stiles wonders if he can handle that.

For as long as he can remember he has had a crush on the fiery redhead, both because of her looks and because of the intelligence she kept hidden from everyone else. It was a hopeless crush, one he needs to move on from—that much he finally admitted to himself last night. The fact that Lydia's love for Jackson quite literally saved Jackson's life was too much evidence for even Stiles' poor heart to explain away. It still stings, especially after he and Lydia appeared to get a bit closer before everything with Gerard came to a head, but it's just something he'll have to get over.

Getting over Lydia. He can do that.

Nodding to himself, Stiles pulls his Jeep back onto the road and drives straight to the Martin residence. Lydia's car is in the driveway and the gate is open, so Stiles walks right up to the front door and knocks before he can start to question himself. A minute later, the door is opened by Lydia's mother, Natalie, dressed in a fuzzy white bathrobe. She appraises him for a moment before stepping aside and letting him in.

"She's in her room," she says, shutting the door and leaving him to it. Her shoulder-length brown hair flies around her head as she walks away.

After taking a moment to prepare himself, Stiles walks up the stairs and down the hallway to where he remembers Lydia's room is. He has only been inside of it once before, when she saw Peter in his alpha form outside of the video store and he wanted to check on her. When he knocks on the pushed-to door and is told to come in, he sees that nothing has changed about the room since then apart from the girl sitting in front of her vanity. The toll of the past few weeks is apparent in the dark circles beneath Lydia's eyes, which she is concealing beneath a layer of makeup.

"What do you want, Stiles?" she asks warily, not looking away from her reflection.

"I just wanted to, y'know, see how you're doing," Stiles says lamely, hovering just inside the door.

"Well, I'm fine, so you can go now."

"You don't look fine."

This has Lydia freezing with her makeup brush halfway to her cheek. She stares at him in the mirror with a judgmental eyebrow raised, and Stiles hurries to amend himself.

"I mean, you look beautiful, of course; you always look beautiful," he rambles, scratching at the back of his neck. Lydia's expression gets worse with every word that spills from his mouth, but he can't seem to stop himself. "Not that looks are all there is to you or anything. I just— I mean— You don't have to pretend with me, you know that, right? You've never had to, but especially now, after everything that's happened recently." Miraculously, he manages to stop himself then, cutting himself off with a sharp breath.

Lydia's eyebrow eventually goes down and she continues putting on her face. "And why would I talk to you about that?"

"Because I'd understand. Because I wouldn't judge you."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass."

Stiles sighs disappointedly. He hates when Lydia does this, pushes people away when they get too close to seeing the real her. He has always wished she would drop the act, but as he thinks about it now, he is surprised to find that the reason for that wish has already changed slightly. Stiles is self-aware enough to admit that he can be selfish sometimes, a prime example being that he used to want Lydia to drop the act so that she would see how perfect they'd be together and jump into his arms.

Yeah, selfish.

Now, though, while he still wishes for Lydia to be her true self, for the most part he wishes she would do it for _herself_ and not for him. Interesting.

"Well, I guess I'll just go then," Stiles says a minute later. "The offer still stands, but I get if you don't want to."

He spins on his heel, his face aflame, and is halfway down the stairs when he hears Lydia call his name. He pauses and glances back over his shoulder at where Lydia now stands with a guilty expression at the top of the staircase.

"Come back up," she says quietly, avoiding eye contact as she walks away again.

Baffled, Stiles follows the redhead and reenters her bedroom, where Lydia now sits on the end of her bed.

"Sit," Lydia instructs, pointing to the space next to her.

Stiles does as he is told somewhat delicately, feeling a little awkward being on her bed even though he has fantasised about this very thing God knows how many times. This is a very different situation than in those myriad fantasies, though. He rests his hands in his lap and plays with his fingers.

Lydia is the one who breaks the silence. "I'm sorry."

Having not expected an apology, Stiles whips his head around to stare at her, wide-eyed. "F-for what?" he stammers.

"I didn't mean to be rude to you just now. It's just…a lot."

"Oh…yeah, I know. That was kind of the whole point of my offer to listen."

"I still can't believe werewolves are real, even after seeing it with my own eyes," Lydia continues as if Stiles hadn't spoken. "Even when Jackson was that… _thing_ , part of me just thought I was having a really horrible dream and I'd wake up at any moment. But I didn't and he—he died and then he came back as this other creature. I don't know what to do with that. I don't know what to say to anyone. So much is changing."

"You're telling me. I mean, here we are, having an actual conversation," Stiles chuckles nervously. "Never thought that would happen."

"That's my fault, isn't it?" Lydia says guiltily, looking down.

"It's okay. I know I'm a lot."

"You're not so bad."

"That's high praise coming from the great Lydia Martin," Stiles smiles, hoping to lighten the mood a fraction.

Lydia doesn't return it. "Not so great any more. Everyone thinks I'm crazy now."

"You're not crazy, Lydia."

"Then what am I?" the redhead inquires, suddenly heated. Her glassy eyes make Stiles uncomfortable. "Why did I keep seeing Peter Hale and why didn't his bite turn me into a werewolf? Why was he able to manipulate me so easily and make me raise him from the dead?"

"I don't know," Stiles mumbles, patting her on the shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

"I hope so. I'm tired of feeling like this."

Stiles clears his throat and changes the subject. "How's Jackson doing?"

"You really care about how Jackson is doing?" Lydia frowns incredulously.

Stiles can't blame her. "I guess," he says, leaning back on his arms. "There's no love lost between us or anything, but what Matt and Gerard made him do can't be easy to handle. I still think he's kind of a douche, but I can't help but feel bad for him, too. He didn't deserve that."

"He's…he's alright, I think. He hasn't really talked about it," Lydia admits.

"Maybe he just needs time."

"Maybe. We haven't really talked much at all, to be honest."

"Really? I thought that after you two declared your undying love for each other or whatever that you'd be inseparable."

"He's not really allowed out of his house," Lydia explains sadly. "Everyone thought he died on the lacrosse field, including his parents, so they're keeping him close for now. We've texted, but I haven't seen him since that night. He still sneaks out, though, but not to see me. I think he's training with Derek Hale, coming to grips with his new self. He doesn't want to hurt anyone else, and Derek is the best person to teach him to control himself, so…yeah."

"Well, I hope you two crazy kids work it out," Stiles says and is surprised to find that he means it. He still feels an attraction to Lydia, but it's fading already.

Go him.

"You're actually telling me you hope my relationship with Jackson gets better?" Lydia asks, incredulous once more. "I thought you'd be happy it's rocky."

Stiles inclines his head. "The old me probably would've been happy, yeah," he responds, staring at their reflections in the mirror on Lydia's vanity. He is on shaky ground. He knows both parties have been more than aware of his feelings for the redhead for a long time, even when Lydia used to pretend not to know who he was every time they interacted. But up until now it has never been said out loud. There's a first time for everything, Stiles supposes, opening his mouth again. "I guess I've just finally accepted that you're never going to see me that way. It's strange. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

Lydia's lips curl into a knowing smile. "Boys are so oblivious…" she says, seemingly to herself.

Stiles looks at her with a frown. "Huh?"

"You're smart. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"O-kay, Miss Cryptic."

The girl shakes her head, fighting off amusement. "Regardless. I may never have showed it—in fact, I was kind of bitch to you pretty frequently—but I kind of felt bad for you always chasing after me. I'm glad you're starting to let that go. If these past few weeks have done anything good, they've made me reevaluate a few things. I don't think I'd mind being your friend now."

Stiles is touched. "I'd like that. I can't wait to see the look on Jackson's face when you tell him," he laughs.

Lydia rolls her eyes and returns to the seat in front of her vanity to finish applying her makeup.

Stiles stays in her room for a few minutes more, discussing inane things with the girl until he thinks it's probably time he leave. He bids Lydia goodbye and tells her he'll see her in school on Monday, but when he reaches her bedroom door he turns around again. "You're really not going to tell me what you meant by that whole 'boys are so oblivious' thing?" he whines, pouting.

The redhead snorts. "Goodbye, Stiles."

* * *

Lydia's comment about Jackson training with Derek piques Stiles' curiosity, so he makes his next stop the old train station Derek has turned into his creepy werewolf lair. He picks up lunch for both of them on the way, thinking that the alpha may be more likely to talk to him if he comes with hot food. He doesn't really know what sort of things Derek likes to eat, so he just orders as much as he can afford at the drive-thru and ignores the judgmental look the woman in the window sends his way as she hands over two bulging paper bags of unhealthy goodness.

At the train station, Stiles spots Derek's swanky black car parked by the stairs leading down inside. He pulls to a stop next to it, gets out of his Jeep with the bags in his hands and is about to descend the stairs when an angry voice comes from behind him, startling him.

"What are you doing here?!"

Stiles drops the bags of fast food and turns quickly around to find Derek standing a few feet away in a short-sleeved purple Henley and a pair of dark jeans. The alpha has his arms crossed over his chest—for some reason Stiles finds himself staring at his biceps for longer than is appropriate—and his eyes are narrowed in contempt and distrust.

"W-what?" Stiles asks dumbly, his mouth hanging open.

Derek lowers his arms to his sides and stalks forward. "I asked you what you're doing here. You're not welcome."

Stiles steps back a couple of paces and trips over something on the ground. He falls and lands jarringly. "I wanted to see you," he says. He points to where the two paper bags now lie and is thankful that the tops were rolled down so nothing spilled out. "I brought food."

"I don't care," Derek growls. "I don't want you here, traitor."

"Traitor?"

"Yes, traitor. Now that that's settled, leave. Go back to Scott and his little hunter."

Derek's voice is filled with so much venom that Stiles is left bemused and speechless—the latter is a rarity for him. The alpha's eyes bore unflinchingly into his, making it hard for Stiles to think. He doesn't recall doing anything that would make Derek spit such things at him and he is about to defend himself by saying as much when he realises what the man means.

"You think I knew what Scott was planning," he states. He knows he is right on the money when Derek's jaw clenches. "I didn't know. I didn't know he was pretending. I thought he'd really joined your pack, Derek."

The alpha keeps staring, so Stiles makes his expression as earnest as possible. Finally, Derek looks away with a huff and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't know why it's so important to him that Derek believes him, but it is.

"You're mad at him, too," Derek states, his expression still stormy.

"About a lot of things, yeah," Stiles confirms. "My best friend teaming up with the guy who wanted to kill all of you and turn his granddaughter into a psycho like him is just the tip of the iceberg right now, believe me." When Derek doesn't say anything else, Stiles gets up and moves to stand in front of him, a couple of paces between them. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

"Why do you care?" Derek snaps defensively.

"I don't know, but I do. I care. I saw your face when you realised what Scott had done and I'm sorry."

"Don't bother. It's fine."

Stiles nods, knowing that Derek doesn't want to talk about it anymore. "So…you hungry? The food's getting cold."

* * *

Stiles sits against one of the walls of the train station and wonders at the twists his life has taken since he woke up that morning. He laughs to himself. "This is the weirdest day…"

Derek just grunts from where he sits next to him, but Stiles isn't deterred. "I mean, if someone had told me a few weeks ago that we'd be eating lunch together without a bunch of threats of bodily harm, I'd have had them committed or something. Not that you're not great to hang out with or anything. I'm sure you're a real fun guy to have around when you're not glaring at everyone like a total Sourwolf and pushing people up against walls in a non-sexy way. It's just, y'know, we've never really liked each other that much."

"I still don't like you," Derek says simply, taking a bite of his spicy chicken wrap.

Before, Stiles would've been upset because he has always had this need to make everyone like him and he knew Derek really used to not. But now, Stiles thinks the grumpy alpha isn't being entirely truthful, especially because the insult wasn't accompanied by one of the glares he just spoke of.

"Whatever. I'm growing on you. Admit it," Stiles cajoles, elbowing Derek lightly in his ribs.

The alpha stares at him with a strange expression on his face, but it's gone before Stiles can decipher it. "I suppose you're not _entirely_ useless," he huffs, taking another bite of his lunch.

"I'll take it." Stiles gets the feeling he has missed something, but he doesn't want to disrupt the affable atmosphere.

"So…" he says after a while, once all the food has been devoured. "Have you heard from Erica or Boyd?"

Derek tenses and keeps eyes averted. His response is a short, "No."

"Oh. I hoped you would've."

"Why?"

"After what Gerard did to them—to us—I wanted to see how they were doing."

That gets Derek's attention. "What do you mean, 'to us'?" he growls, his eyes flashing red.

"You know. Me, Erica and Boyd."

"He took you all?"

Stiles blinks. "You didn't know?"

"Obviously."

"Well, uh, yeah…it was when Jackson 'died' on the lacrosse field," Stiles explains with some difficulty. His face clouds over with the memories of that awful night. "When the lights all went out and Jackson stabbed himself to stop himself from hurting anyone, Gerard grabbed me because, for some reason, he thought he'd be able to use me to get to you. He locked me in the basement of his house. Erica and Boyd were already there, bound and hooked up to some generator-type things."

"And is he the one who did that?" Derek asks, how voice still inhumanly low as he gestures to the bruising on Stiles' face.

"Yeah. Apparently he doesn't like people mouthing off to him."

"How did you escape?"

"Gerard knocked me out," Stiles says quietly, looking down at his lap. "I don't know how much time passed, but when I came to, Chris Argent was there. He said he didn't know what his dad was doing and let us all go. That's another reason I came here. I really did want to see how you were doing after what Scott did to you, but I also thought Erica and Boyd would've come to you and you'd be able to tell me if they were okay. But I guess not… I wonder where they are."

Derek reigns in his anger then, his eyes turning back to hazel and becoming sad. "They're probably miles away by now. I told them that I wouldn't be responsible for them anymore if they left, so they probably didn't think they _could_ come back here."

Sensing the alpha's sadness, Stiles risks putting a hand on Derek's arm and does a victory dance in his head when the touch isn't shaken off.

"You regret it," he observes.

Derek sighs and rests his head against the wall. "I do."

"Maybe they will come back."

"Doubt it. I didn't treat them very well."

The corner of Stiles' mouth twitches. "Wow."

"Hmm?"

"Derek Hale is actually talking about his feelings. I guess that means the world's ending."

"Make another crack like that and I'm gonna stop again," Derek threatens.

"Ah, there's the Sourwolf I know and love!" Stiles smirks.

Derek's eyes widen infinitesimally before he composes himself and rolls them. "Don't call me that."

"What? Sourwolf?"

"Yes."

"But it suits you!"

"Does not."

"It does, too!"

"Does not."

"Does, too!"


	2. Mending Fences

_\- Saturday, April 16th, 2011 -_

Derek doesn't know what to think once Stiles has left.

For some reason, Scott's betrayal hadn't hurt him nearly as much as the thought of Stiles being in on it. In hindsight, he was foolish to believe that the beta would ever join him. Scott is too stubborn, too obstinate to ever admit that he needs help, that he needs Derek as his alpha. Derek was relieved to learn that Stiles hadn't known what Scott was planning, but with that relief came a sense of wrongness.

He shouldn't have been relieved about that. Stiles means nothing to him. But then why was he worried when he saw the bruises on the boy's face in the warehouse? Why did he want to walk up to him then and there and demand to know what happened to him so that he could take care of it? None of it makes any sense to Derek.

As he listens to the engine of Stiles' Jeep fade into the distance, he sighs, glad to have some peace. He evidently has a lot to think about.

Too bad he isn't alone quite yet.

"Why so glum, nephew?" comes Peter's voice, startling him.

The man is silent as he steps out of the shadows, his shoes not making a sound. Derek hadn't even heard the older man's heartbeat or breathing, not that he'd really been listening for it. Peter disturbs him now even more than he had when he was an alpha terrorising those who were responsible for the fire that killed most of their family. Coming back from the dead like that…Derek has never heard of anything like it.

"What do you want?" Derek snaps, leaping to his feet with a glare.

"Don't fret. I'm just checking up on you, is all," Peter says.

"I don't trust you."

"And I don't blame you for that. I did horrible things, after all." An expression of deep remorse appears on Peter's face. Derek doesn't buy it.

"Say what you want to say and leave. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"And why is that? Stiles get under your skin?"

"No."

Peter's remorse turns into a smirk. "I think he did. Interesting…"

With a low growl, Derek allows his eyes to glow red as he stares his uncle down. "I should kill you again right now."

"I wouldn't hold it against you. But, if I were you, I'd reconsider," Peter cautions.

Derek takes a step forward. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to help you." Peter saunters across the station until he reaches the stairs leading outside. He doesn't look at Derek as he speaks again. "I know you won't believe me, but I'm going to prove to you that I've changed."

With a scoff, Derek's eyes return to normal. "And how are you going to do that?"

Peter glances back over his shoulder with a knowing smile. "By helping you get what you want most."

With that, the beta ascends the stairs and leaves Derek to ponder what the hell he meant.

* * *

Stiles is sitting at his desk late in the evening when he hears someone knocking on his window. It's not the first time something like this has happened since he entered the supernatural world and werewolves became an everyday part of his life, but this knock is new. It's less aggressive than Derek's—if the alpha even bothered to knock at all—and slower than Scott's. Curious, Stiles looks over at the window and tries to see who is on the other side, but because of his bedroom light and the fact that it's dark outside, he can't see anything but his own reflection.

The knock comes again, so Stiles gets up and walks cautiously to the window. "Who is it?" he calls. He can never be too careful nowadays.

"It's your favourite ex-alpha," comes the reply. "Care to open up?"

Huh.

Stiles doesn't know who he was expecting, but Peter wasn't it. Truth be told, he is still scared of the man and isn't sure that opening his window is a good idea.

This is the man who killed Derek's sister to fulfil his plan for revenge. This is the man who hurt Lydia to make Stiles do his bidding, who tormented her for weeks to get her to bring him back. Peter is a vulpine person who uses others to get what he wants, and Stiles is certain that coming here is part of some new plan Peter has concocted.

"Stiles, seriously, I'm getting bored out here," the wolf sighs from the other side of the glass. "I swear to be on my best behaviour."

"You expect me to believe you?" Stiles says incredulously.

"I just want to talk."

"About what?"

"Open the window and you'll find out."

When Stiles still hesitates, Peter speaks again, his amusement clear: "Think about it. If I was here for nefarious purposes, I could've easily just broken the pane, done whatever you're afraid I want to do to you, and been on my way again."

Stiles has to admit that Peter has a point.

Against his better judgement, he reaches for the lock and opens the window a fraction before stepping back several paces and leaving Peter to do the rest by himself. He stays on the other side of his bedroom as the beta climbs through the window and uncurls his body to his full height. Stiles is a little jealous of how graceful he makes it look. If Stiles were the one climbing in through someone's window, he'd probably end up falling and breaking his own neck or something.

Peter's ever-present smirk is out in full force as he regards Stiles, like he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking. His white V-necked T-shirt is at least one size too small, stretching obscenely across the muscles of his arms and chest. This penchant for tight clothing must be something that runs in the family, but it doesn't suit Peter nearly as much as it suits Derek. Peter's muscles are also not nearly as nice as Derek's, a thought that Stiles tells himself he'll come back to later because what? The shirt is so thin that the darker skin of the beta's nipples is easily visible, a sight that has Stiles scrunching up his nose in disgust.

"Well, you're in my room now, so what did you want to talk about?" he asks.

"Our dear alpha, of course," Peter replies. He saunters over to Stiles' bed and reclines on it like it's an everyday occurrence.

"You've lost me already."

"You are aware that an alpha needs at least three betas in his or her pack in order for it to be stable and for them to maintain their sanity, yes?" Peter carries on, leaning back against the headboard and putting his hands behind his head. "Well, there's the slight problem that, at the moment, Derek only has two—Isaac Lahey, and the ever-delightful Jackson Whittemore."

"What about you?"

Peter waves his hand unconcernedly. "I don't count since Derek and I are on the outs right now."

"Still doesn't tell me why you're here," Stiles prompts irritably. He throws himself back down in his desk chair and thinks idly of washing his sheets to decontaminate them when this conversation is mercifully over. Maybe he'll burn them and get new ones instead, just to be safe.

"I'm here to invite you to Jackson's next training session."

Stiles blinks. "What?"

"I really thought you were smarter than this," Peter rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts. "What part are you having trouble with?"

"Why would I…why would I go to that?" Stiles manages to ask, getting over his surprise.

"Just trust me. You'll want to be there."

"No offence, but I _don't_ trust you. At all. And on second thought, full offence."

Peter chuckles and then turns serious. "I know I have a lot to make up for—"

"Like murdering your niece, attacking my friends, kidnapping me and almost forcing the bite on me, you mean?"

Peter doesn't miss a beat. " _But_ , I want to try. Coming back from the dead has cured me of my grief-fuelled insanity," he says casually. "We're all going to need each other eventually, for whenever something or someone else comes to town and tries to destroy us all. Gerard won't be the last by a long shot—it's an inevitability at this point—and don't you think it's better that you all let me be on your side, considering the wealth of knowledge and cunning I have to offer?"

"It's that cunning that worries me," Stiles challenges, narrowing his eyes.

"So you _are_ smart."

"And you admit I'm right to be worried. I'm not going to let you hurt Derek again by trying to take back his alpha status or whatever," Stiles promises.

"Just Derek, hmm?"

"Or _anyone_."

"It's strange that my nephew was the only one you mentioned by name, though. Very strange," Peter says. "I wonder why that is."

Stiles sits forward in his chair. "I just think he's been through more than enough bullshit for several lifetimes, and he doesn't need _you_ ," he jabs his finger at Peter, who stares back entirely unaffected, "adding any more to it. You got it?"

"I'm sure that's all it is." Peter's eyes are shining with mirth.

With a huff, Stiles looks away. "What is it with everyone today?" he mumbles, looking down at his lap.

"What's that?"

Stiles contemplates the pros and cons of responding for a moment but then decides that, fuck it, it doesn't matter. "I saw Lydia earlier today and she said something weird, too, about me being oblivious. I'm not oblivious…" he pouts, using his feet to turn his chair back and forth a few inches. He has to stop when he gets dizzy.

Peter goes quiet then, but it's a blessing that of course doesn't last because that's just Stiles' luck. "I'm intrigued," the beta says, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed. He holds his fingers against his chin and looks thoughtful, which Stiles knows can never be good. "Well, I think I'll be going then. I've done what I came here to do. Remember," he pauses at the window and peers at Stiles, "Jackson's training session. Tomorrow at 6 p.m. Don't be late. Wouldn't want the object of your affections to be mad at you now, would you?"

When Peter jumps out of the window without another word, Stiles leaps out of his desk chair and races to catch him before he can vanish completely. "Why would Lydia be mad about me being late?!" he yells at the retreating back he can just barely see through the darkness.

His only response is Peter's distant laughter.

* * *

_\- Sunday, April 17th, 2011 -_

Lydia walks out of the Beacon Hills Mall right as it closes, her hands gripping the handles of a multitude of shopping bags from several different stores. Her frilly white blouse blows in the light breeze and her red Jimmy Choo heels click on the concrete as she walks through the parking lot and laments the state of her social life. Thanks to her hallucinations of Peter Hale, nearly all of her popular friends have ditched her, and the few she has managed to keep—her few _real_ friends, apparently—weren't available when she called them that morning.

Not even Allison.

Lydia tries not to feel resentful, because she herself did the exact same thing.

She remembers how it was when she and Jackson had first started their relationship, how inseparable they were and how she would neglect her friends to hang out alone with the cool and very hot captain of the lacrosse team. Her relationship with Jackson was simpler than the whole 'star-crossed lovers' thing that Scott and Allison have going on, but she hopes it will go the same way and Allison will have time for her again soon.

Someone suddenly speaking to her cuts into Lydia's thoughts and stops her in her tracks.

"That's a lot of bags you got there. Need a hand?"

Turning slowly in the direction of the voice, Lydia's heart starts beating faster when she sees Peter Hale leaning against the hood of her car. She drops her bags without care and backs up a couple of paces, memories of the night she was attacked on the lacrosse field playing through her mind. Peter doesn't look as menacing as he had back then, but she knows what he is capable of and doesn't want to be put back in the hospital. She wonders if she can be quick enough to get her phone out and dial Jackson before Peter can reach her. Probably not.

"You can calm down," Peter says, chuckling.

Lydia swallows with difficulty and balls her hands into fists to hide the fact that they're shaking. "Why are you here? The mall's closed."

"I know. I'm here to see you."

She takes another step back. "Haven't you done enough to me?"

"I'm not here to hurt you," Peter says condescendingly, pushing away from Lydia's car.

"You'll forgive me if I'm having trouble believing you."

"That attitude is going around at the moment. As I said, I'm not here to hurt anyone, but what I _am_ here for is to propose something to you."

Getting over some of her fear now, Lydia tells herself that Peter wouldn't risk doing something in broad daylight, especially not when there are still other people around. She unclenches her hands and takes a deep, slow breath. "What is it?" she asks, her heart slowing.

"Stiles and Derek."

Lydia narrows her eyes. "Don't even think about touching Stiles."

Peter grins at her protectiveness. "I didn't know you two were such close friends."

"We're not, but the shit you and Gerard put us through forms a bond."

"How sweet."

"You're planning something," Lydia observes.

Peter nods approvingly. "Very good, but it's not a bad thing this time. If anything, what I'm planning will help them."

"I seriously doubt that."

"You see," Peter continues, "I visited your _dear friend_ Stiles yesterday evening, and he said some things about you that made me realise you'd seen it, too."

"Seen what?" Lydia demands, feeling brave enough now to move forward again and pick her shopping bags back up. She unlocks her car with the button on the key, walks around to the backseat and barely stops herself from flinching when Peter beats her to it and opens the door for her.

"The attraction between him and Derek," the beta elaborates. "I believe the word you used to describe Stiles was 'oblivious'?"

"So what if I did?"

" _So_ , do you want to get in on bringing those two idiots together? I've already put Phase 1 of my plan—which is getting them in the same place more often—into action and invited Stiles to your boyfriend's training session later today. I'm going to use that time to see how he and Derek skirt around each other and also to work on Phase 2—which is where you come in. You really should say yes. I put a lot of time into coming up with this and I don't want to have to rework it. I could manage it, but my plan is already genius in its current form."

"Why exactly am I a part of your 'plan'?" Lydia demands to know.

"Part 2 is jealousy. You're going to flirt with Stiles in front of Derek to provoke a reaction."

Lydia dismisses the idea outright. "Yeah, no," she says, shoving Peter out of the way so that she can open the driver's door of her car.

"If you're worried about your boyfriend," Peter assures, curling his hand around the top of the door to prevent Lydia from closing it once she has climbed behind the wheel, "I'll allow you to let him in on the plan, too."

"That's good of you."

"I thought so."

"Let go of the door."

"Are you going to come to the training session?"

"Will you leave me in peace if I agree?" Lydia counters.

Peter holds out his other hand, his little finger raised. "Pinky promise."

"Fine," Lydia grudgingly agrees. "I'll come. Now leave me alone."

Peter pouts. "You didn't pinky promise."

"And I'm not going to."

With a laugh, Peter removes his hand from the driver's door and lets Lydia close it. "See you later!"

With a final wary glance in his direction, Lydia starts her car, backs out of her parking space and drives away as quickly as she can. She looks in the rearview mirror just before she exits the mall lot and shudders when she sees Peter still standing there, watching her go.

* * *

Wondering how his showing up at Jackson's training session will be received, Stiles is trepidatious as he drives along the road that will bring him right outside of the train station. For all he knows, Peter didn't get Derek's permission to invite him along, so Derek will probably be mad at him for showing up. In fact, Stiles thinks it's highly likely that Peter didn't get Derek's permission, and the beta is just screwing with him because he's still an asshole.

As he pulls to a stop in between Jackson's fancy silver Porsche and Derek's black Camaro, Stiles contemplates just backing right out of there again and going home, rather than risk destroying the tentative friendship he hopes has begun to form between Derek and himself. But before he can put the parking brake back down, Peter is knocking loudly on his window with a too-wide grin.

Stiles jolts in his seat, causing Peter to laugh at him. "You made it," the beta says as Stiles gets out of his vehicle.

"Did you have to make me jump like that?!" Stiles protests, glaring at Peter.

"Yup. I've gotta get my kicks somehow."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Y'know, if you really are a changed man and you want people to trust you again, you might want to avoid deliberately pissing them off."

"But where's the fun in that?"

Huffing, Stiles gives it up as a lost cause and gestures to Jackson's Porsche. "Has it already started?"

"A couple of minutes ago, but they've stopped again because you're here," Peter replies. He tilts his head slightly to the side, indicating that he is listening to something that Stiles' human ears can't pick up. "Ah, here he comes now. This should be entertaining."

Before Stiles can ask what Peter means, Derek is suddenly next to him.

The alpha sports a confused frown, a pair of tight jeans and a grey tank top. His impressive arms are on full display and the definition of his chest is not at all hidden behind the stretched fabric of the tank. Stiles is momentarily sent back to the thought he'd had when Peter visited his bedroom the night before. He was right; Derek's muscles are a lot nicer. He'd always known Derek was ripped, thanks to that traumatising time in Deaton's clinic when the then-beta had tried to make him cut off his arm, but he hadn't taken much notice beyond a cursory feeling of envy.

Stiles can't figure out why he is taking more notice now.

Derek looks at him strangely. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Grateful to have his thoughts interrupted, Stiles points his finger at Peter. "He did it!"

"What?"

"I invited him," the beta elaborates.

"Why? It's dangerous for him to be here."

"Nah, you're a big, strong alpha. You can protect him." Peter pats an unimpressed Derek on the arm and then walks past him toward the stairs.

"Uh, hi," Stiles says with a pathetic wave when Derek returns his gaze to him.

"Explain."

"Well, Peter might've shown up at my house last night and told me I should come."

"Why would he do that?"

"You'll have to ask him." Stiles shakes his head. "Who knows what goes through his brain."

Derek harrumphs. "You should leave," he says. "Like I said to Peter, it's too dangerous for you to be here right now."

"Please?" Stiles begs, making his eyes big and round. He has to admit, as skeptical of the idea as he was when Peter brought it up, he is curious now and wants to finally see what a werewolf training session is like. "I won't get in the way, I promise."

"No."

Stiles tries a different tactic. "Aww, are you really that worried about me, Sourwolf?" he teases, punching Derek lightly on the arm.

The alpha's expression is panicked for a fraction of a second before he covers it with a blank mask. "I'm not worried about you," he denies. Something about his tone makes Stiles think that he isn't being entirely truthful, which sends a thrill down his spine that he used to feel whenever Lydia would look at him. Odd. "I'm worried for Jackson," Derek continues, crossing his arms over his chest. Hello, biceps. "His control is still tenuous, and I don't want the presence of someone he dislikes testing that. Even though it wasn't his fault, he has enough guilt over hurting people without adding you to that list."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "It'll be fine," he says.

"I'm serious, Stiles."

"So am I. It'll be fine. You won't let Jackson hurt me," the human states confidently, following in Peter's figurative footsteps. When Derek opens his mouth to protest again, Stiles holds up his hand. "Don't bother, Sourwolf. It's been decided."

Wearing his patented scowl, Derek releases a short frustrated growl before acquiescing. "Fine, but if you do get hurt, it's on you."

"Deal."

When Derek storms away, Stiles ends up staring at his ass for a second too long for him to excuse it as anything but checking it out. Which means… He stands outside by himself for a moment because— _holy shit_ —he can't process the realisation that he is actually attracted to Derek like that.

Sure, in some abstract way he has always known that Derek is a good-looking guy who could have any woman smitten with him just by showing them his face—and some guys, too, given that Stiles used Danny's very obvious attraction to Derek to get him to help when they were tracking down Peter just a few months ago. Stiles doesn't know what to do with the realisation that he is included in the presumably long, _long_ list of people who want Derek.

In the past, Stiles has asked Danny if he is attractive to gay guys, but it was all a joke to him. Or at least he thought it was at the time. Now he isn't so sure. What if a part of him he hadn't acknowledged yet had meant it? Before Stiles can figure it out for sure, Derek is back and shouting for him.

" _Stiles_! Are you coming or what?!"

"Uh, y-yeah, sure," Stiles stammers, tripping over his own feet as he begins walking to the stairs that lead down into the train station.

Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all.

* * *

For the first half hour, Stiles leans against the wall where he and Derek had eaten lunch the day before and attempts to keep his eyes off of said alpha. He is largely unsuccessful. It's basically impossible now that Stiles has partially come to terms with this new facet of his sexuality and Derek is _right there_ , all sweaty and muscular and beautiful and God fucking damn it, Stiles is so screwed. He hopes fleetingly that it's just a physical thing, but then he remembers how much he had cared about how Derek was doing after Scott's betrayal and his hope dies a slow, painful death. So much for being straight. Fuck.

He is so entranced by the grace of Derek's movements as he puts Jackson through his paces that he doesn't notice right away when Peter sidles up next to him.

"So…" the beta starts, "what do you think so far?"

"What?" Stiles responds. He isn't really paying attention because Derek chooses that moment to toss Jackson through the air in a display of great strength that turns Stiles on a bit. The front of his jeans feels a little bit tighter, a mortifying reaction that Peter doesn't miss the opportunity to tease him about.

"Something the matter, Stiles?"

Somehow, the boy manages to look away from Derek and finds the beta smiling at him. "No, everything's fine. Why?"

"You sure? You're smelling a bit funny there."

Stiles' face heats up when Peter flicks his eyes down and he knows that his arousal hasn't gone unnoticed. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses.

Peter laughs. "I didn't say anything."

"Well, don't. Or you'll be sorry."

"Will I now?"

Luckily, Peter stops his teasing there. He stays leaning next to Stiles but doesn't talk to him again, which leaves Stiles free to drown in his embarrassment in peace. He stares stubbornly at the ground, thinking intensely about his dad in lingerie to force his dick to go soft again. When it has, he observes Peter out of the corner of his eye and replays the ending of the beta's visit the day before. Peter hadn't meant Lydia when he'd mentioned the object of Stiles' affections. Peter knows.

Stiles is so busy glaring at a speck of dirt on the concrete that he almost misses when the sounds of training stop suddenly. Risking raising his eyes, he is baffled to find all of the wolves looking at the stairs. "What's going on?"

"The pups are back," is Peter's response, which only baffles Stiles further.

"What?"

"Just watch."

His face stern, Derek steps away from Jackson and moves to stand near the bottom of the stairs. "Get down here," he orders their new arrivals.

Stiles hears hurried footsteps and then Erica, Boyd and Isaac all enter the station. The first two have their heads bowed respectfully, but Isaac strolls right over to Jackson and keeps the surly beta company.

Stiles is stunned. For all that he had tried to cheer Derek up the previous afternoon, he didn't actually think Erica and Boyd would ever show their faces in Beacon Hills again. He's glad, though, both because he saw firsthand how affected Derek was by them denouncing him as their alpha and because he was worried about them himself.

Being down in the Argents' basement was hellish for him, but Stiles thinks it was even worse for Erica and Boyd. They don't look bad now—Erica's face is made up with her signature red lipstick. Her blonde hair falls in neat waves down her back and she sports a tight white tank top—maybe the tight clothing is just a werewolf thing and not exclusive to the Hales—and a clean pair of light-blue skinny jeans, whereas Boyd's T-shirt is black and his jeans dark-blue. They've obviously already been back to their respective homes to shower and change clothes, but Stiles still wonders where they went after Chris Argent set them free and why they chose now to make their return.

"Why are you here?" Derek enquires impatiently. "If I remember correctly, the last time I saw you, you didn't want anything to do with this pack."

Erica mumbles something that Stiles doesn't catch, but Derek does.

"You're sorry? If that's all you have to say to me, then feel free to leave again. That's what you wanted, right?"

"We're sorry, okay?!" Erica cries, her head snapping up. She looks at Derek with anguished eyes. "We're sorry we ran and we're sorry we didn't come back to you right away when Allison's dad let us go. We didn't know what all of this meant, didn't realise everything we'd be giving up when we left. We want to come back…"

Derek regards her impassively for a moment before looking to Boyd. "And you?"

The tall beta raises his head, too, and meets the alpha's gaze. His usually phlegmatic demeanour is replaced with an expression of sincere contrition. "I feel the same as Erica," he says. "I'm sorry for running out on you."

Derek silently regards both betas for a long time, not buckling even when they begin to fidget uncomfortably. Stiles feels kind of bad for them, honestly, but he knows why Derek is doing what he's doing. The man is putting on a facade, acting aloof because he isn't sure if letting Erica and Boyd back into his pack is worth the risk of being hurt again should they fecklessly change their minds once more. Derek stares for so long that Stiles begins to get uncomfortable as well, the silence ringing in his ears. Finally, he can't take it anymore and steps forward.

"I think—"

"No one cares what you think, Stilinski," Jackson interrupts derisively, looking at Stiles for the first time that evening.

"Well, I'm going to speak anyway, so there." Stiles sticks his tongue out and doesn't miss Erica's tiny smile when he turns back to her, Boyd and Derek. He smiles at her before addressing Derek. "They've made mistakes, yes, but—and please don't rip my throat out for saying this—nobody in here is particularly innocent. All of us have made mistakes. I admit I don't really know the first thing about being an alpha, but I do know that the way you went about training Erica, Boyd and Isaac wasn't exactly good."

When Derek glares at him and begins to protest, Stiles talks over him, making his voice sympathetic. "Yes, I'm sure you tried your best and you care in your own little Sourwolf-y way," he powers on, "but using pain and fear to train your betas isn't exactly conductive to loyalty now, is it? We can all try harder here."

Derek still glares, but Stiles thinks he sees grudging agreement in his hazel eyes.

"Alright then… I think I've said my piece so," Stiles walks back over to Peter, "I'll just be quiet over here."

Once Stiles is back in his place, Derek rips his eyes away from the boy and looks somewhere over Erica and Boyd's heads. "Alright, you can come back," he accepts. Stiles gives himself a mental pat on the back. "But," Derek continues, "I'll make something clear now. I don't say this to hurt you, but you need to understand the full consequences of your decisions. You leaving when you did left us weak, meant we couldn't defend ourselves nearly as well as we could have were you here to help us like you were supposed to be. That can't happen again. You'll have to prove to me that you really mean it when you say you want to be here."

Derek finally looks at Erica and Boyd again, the hard part over. "Will you complain when I give you an order?"

"No," Erica says immediately.

"No," Boyd echoes.

"Will you commit fully to the training regimes I set you, again without complaint?"

"Yes," both betas respond.

"Do you swear you'll stay even if things get tough again?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

Derek nods approvingly. "Good. In return," he glances at Stiles, his face constipated as if what he is about to say physically pains him, "I promise not to ask things of you that will cause you harm. I think we'll leave it there for today. We'll train again tomorrow after school. Any objections?"

When everyone shakes their heads, Derek dismisses them and vanishes into one of the train cars. Jackson leaves right away, sending a sneer in Stiles' direction, while Peter fades back into the shadows and Isaac strolls over to Erica and Boyd to congratulate them. Stiles doesn't think Peter has actually left, but he puts him out of his mind and moves to join the trio of betas, who turn to him as he approaches.

"So you're a part of this now," Erica comments, smiling.

"Yeah, kinda," Stiles replies, scratching the back of his head.

"I thought you'd be with Scott."

"We're not really seeing eye to eye at the moment. I haven't actually spoken to him since Gerard was taken down."

Boyd frowns. "Why not?"

"He's busy with Allison, I'm guessing." Erica rolls her eyes.

"Probably," Stiles confirms, annoyed. "Plus there was that whole thing where he teamed up with the guy who tortured you two and beat me up, and then he selfishly betrayed Derek, so…yeah, I haven't exactly _tried_ to talk to him yet. So far it's not a good year for Scotty-boy."

"Want me to kick his ass for you?" Erica asks with a feral grin.

"No!" Stiles squeaks. "Thanks, but that's really not necessary. We'll work it out eventually. We always do."

Disappointed, Erica sighs and deliberately scuffs her trainers on the floor. "Fine…but I'm gonna give him some wicked stink-eye."

"Be my guest."

"Anyway, enough about that dick," the blonde says, flinging her arm around Stiles' shoulders and forcing him to walk with her toward the stairs. Boyd and Isaac trail along behind them, both of them quiet. "We're going to pig out on food that's terrible for us and then maybe catch a late showing of some shitty movie. Wanna join? My treat. If you're gonna be a part of this whole thing now, I've gotta make up for hitting you with that carburettor."

"Sure," Stiles accepts, bemused but pleased. "That really hurt, y'know."

"Yeah, sorry… I was pulling your metaphorical pigtails and got a bit carried away."

"You left me in a dumpster."

"I just said I was sorry!" Erica says exasperatedly. "And I'm buying you dinner and a movie, so shush."

Stiles pauses next to his Jeep. "Wait, is this a date?" he asks, a hint of panic in his voice. "Because I like you and all, but not in that way."

Erica's laugh is mellifluous as she climbs in the passenger side of the blue vehicle and Isaac and Boyd get in the backseat. "No, it's not a date," she smirks once Stiles is in, too. Her eyes are bright with amusement. "I think Boyd would have something to say about that, don't you?"

"Hey, I don't know what your situation is!" Stiles defends.

"Just drive, moron."


	3. Joining the Scheme

_\- Monday, April 18th, 2011 -_

The next day, Stiles arrives bright and early at school in a pair of red chinos, a _Thor_ T-shirt and a brown plaid overshirt. He is so tired he wishes he was dead, even though it's his own fault—he spent basically the whole night sitting at his desk, conducting a bunch of…research…on his developing sexuality.

It was an experience, to say the least.

He had paid exclusive attention to the women in the porn he watched before and was startled to discover that, once he actually started looking at the men as well, he was also turned on by them, by their muscles and the dark scruff that covered their jaws. He swears it was just a happy coincidence that they all looked similar to Derek.

Once he was done, Stiles checked four times that he had cleared his browser history and privately labelled himself as bisexual.

Now, he enters the school through the main doors and traverses the hallways in a state of paranoia. It feels like everyone is staring at him, like they can see that something about him has changed. They probably wouldn't judge him, he knows—Danny Mahealani is very well liked by pretty much everybody, after all—but for some reason Stiles wants to keep it to himself, at least for the time being. He has begun accepting it himself, but apparently he isn't quite ready to announce it to the world yet.

Reaching his locker, he takes out the books he'll need that day and slams the small metal door shut. When he turns around to head to his first class, he jumps with fright when he comes face-to-face with Erica standing right behind him. The blonde wears her hair in her signature loose curls, and on her body she sports a tight white T-shirt that her pink bra shows through, a short black skirt and her leather jacket. She balances on ridiculously high shoes.

Her smile is predatory and her eyes are unusually bright.

" _Jesus Christ_ , Erica!" Stiles yells, clutching a hand over his racing heart.

"What's the problem?" says a voice from right behind his ear. It makes him jump all over again, only this time he drops his backpack and papers spill out from where the top was only half zipped.

Isaac moves around to stand next to Erica, the same smile on his face. "You make this too easy."

Stiles pouts and bends down to pick up his spilled papers. "That's really not funny."

"It _really_ is."

"What're you guys even doing here anyway?"

Erica cocks her head to the side. "What do you mean? You're in the pack now, so we're hanging out. It's really not that difficult to understand."

Pursing his lips, Stiles finishes stuffing his things back inside his backpack and slings it securely over his right shoulder. "See, that's where I lose you," he says, obediently walking along with Erica and Isaac when she links her arm with his free one and begins moving them toward his first class, which he remembers now that they all share. He spies Boyd already waiting for them outside of the room. "I didn't think I was actually in the pack. I thought I was just on the periphery. I've only been to one training session, and Derek doesn't like me much."

Erica releases a long-suffering sigh. "Oh, Stiles…my poor naive child."

"I'm not your child, though."

"Hush," Erica orders softly, putting her index finger to Stiles' lips. "Everything will be fine."

Bemused, Stiles keeps silent as the blonde steers him through the other students milling about the hallway and they end up next to Boyd. Only then does Erica release him and wrap her arms instead around the dark-skinned giant for a kiss that starts out as a simple peck but quickly escalates into more.

Stiles looks away, feeling like he is intruding on an intimate moment. His eyes land on Scott, who stands all the way back at the other end of the hallway, near Stiles' locker. The beta stares at the rectangular metal door with a frown before scanning through the crowd, apparently searching for its owner. Stiles doesn't look away or try to hide, but he doesn't make it any easier for Scott to find him either. When their eyes finally meet and he sees who Stiles is with, Scott's frown gets even deeper. He begins moving toward him, only to be distracted by something else.

Shaking his head, Stiles refocuses on Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Erica glares at Scott now, whereas the boys' expressions of displeasure are more subdued.

"C'mon, ignore that asshole," Erica says scornfully.

She grabs Stiles again and shepherds him through the open classroom door. Before he steps inside, Stiles gets one last glimpse of Scott's confused face.

* * *

The class Stiles has just before lunch doesn't contain Erica, Boyd or Isaac, so he is forced to walk alone through the hallways to meet back up with them outside of the cafeteria. When he turns the last corner and spots the trio of betas standing together halfway along it, Stiles picks up his pace a little. They haven't noticed him yet, and he is about to call out to them when he is suddenly dragged off to the side and into a janitor's closet.

"What the hell?!" Stiles sputters, struggling to see in the dark. He doesn't know who has just accosted him and the first emotion he feels is fear, the last time he was grabbed out of nowhere and the pain that came afterward flashing through his mind. But then, when the light is switched on and he sees that Scott is the only other person in the tiny room, his fear is replaced by righteous anger.

"What the fuck, Scott?!" he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

The beta ignores Stiles' indignation and responds with a question of his own. "Why are you hanging around Derek's pack?" he enquires.

"Seriously?"

"They're trouble. You know that."

"No they're not. They're my friends," Stiles reasons, crossing his arms.

"They're with Derek. They're not your friends," Scott refutes, taking a step forward with a wildness in his eyes that Stiles has never seen before. He says the alpha's name with such disdain that Stiles is honestly shocked. He knew Scott wasn't a fan of Derek, but he didn't think that the beta held actual _hatred_ for him. "They're just using you to get back at me for outmanoeuvring their alpha, for standing up to him and defeating Gerard by myself!"

Stiles is left speechless. "There are so many things wrong with what you just said… You can't be serious."

"Open your eyes and stop being so stupid! They are _not_ your friends."

"Oh, and you are?"

"Of course I am! I'm trying to help you."

So now he cares, Stiles thinks stormily, the good mood he had managed to hold on to since Erica, Boyd and Isaac accepted him into their little group that morning vanishing as if it had never existed. Releasing a short peal of mocking laughter, he turns around and reaches for the door handle, not willing to spend another second in the janitor's closet with his supposed best friend if said best friend isn't going to listen to reason and instead stick to his immature ways of thinking. Before he can wrap his fingers around he handle, though, Scott grabs his wrist.

"Let go of me," Stiles says tonelessly, glaring at Scott.

"No. Not until you come to your senses."

Before Stiles can reply, the closet door opens to reveal Erica, Isaac and Boyd standing on the other side.

"I believe he asked you let him go," Erica says, baring her teeth.

"And what're you going to do to me if I don't? Fight me?" Scott scoffs. "You couldn't beat me at the ice rink and you can't beat me here."

Isaac scoffs derisively. "I dunno. It's three against one now, and we're stronger than we were back then."

For several tense moments Stiles looks between his petulant best friend and his protective new friends and dreads what he thinks is inevitable. He really doesn't want a fight to break out, especially not one involving werewolves in a public space. If any of the betas don't accidentally out themselves, then they'll all at least end up in detention.

He is shocked when, eventually, Scott practically throws him at the trio in the hall. Isaac catches him easily and keeps him upright while Scott storms away, shooting the four of them one last glare before he vanishes around the corner.

"Well that was…" Stiles says but doesn't finish.

"Exciting?" Erica suggests.

"Not the word I would've chosen, but to each their own, I guess."

"C'mon, let's get some lunch. I'm starving."

* * *

When Stiles arrives home, he still has a couple of hours to kill before the betas' next training session with Derek is due to start. He lingers in the hallway between the foyer and kitchen, wondering what he can do to pass the time until he needs to leave the house again.

He doesn't really feel like watching or playing anything, and the homework he has been given isn't pressing enough that he needs to do it that day. His thoughts drifting back to the training session itself, Stiles thinks that, once it's over, the werewolves will likely be ravenous with hunger because of all the energy they will have exerted. If there's nothing else Stiles can do to make himself useful, he can take provide food.

He has had years of experience cooking for his dad, after all.

"Good plan, Stiles," he tells himself.

Walking the rest of the way to the kitchen, he rifles through the cupboards and fridge to help him decide what he should make. Something meaty, obviously, but there has to be a more healthy component, too; just because they're werewolves doesn't mean they don't have to take care of themselves. At the bottom of the fridge he finds an unopened packet of minced beef that is just a couple of days away from going out of date. Another check of ingredients he has on hand tells him he has everything he needs to make burritos.

Perfect.

While the rice and meat are cooking, Stiles arranges the other ingredients in neat rows along the counter and opens a couple of fresh packs of tortilla wraps. He hopes that sixteen will be enough for five hungry werewolves—six, if Peter counts—and himself.

* * *

Once it's nearly time for the training session to start, Stiles carefully boxes up the burritos—and the brownies he had baked on a whim—in Tupperware containers and sets them in the passenger seat of his Jeep. Then he gets in behind the wheel, double-checks that he has everything and drives to the train station.

When he arrives he finds Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson waiting outside, the latter standing a little apart from the other three. Stiles leaves the food in his Jeep for now and gets out to join the others. After brief greetings, they descend the stairs.

The first thing Stiles sees is Derek in the middle of working out, doing pull-ups in the open doorway of a train car. Without a shirt. Stiles almost trips down the last few steps when he sees him and only manages to avoid breaking his nose because Isaac once again catches him before he can fall.

"You alright?" the tall beta asks, frowning.

"Yeah, just being my usual clumsy self." Stiles' laugh is a little too loud. "No biggie."

Isaac doesn't seem convinced but he lets it go, much to Stiles' relief. Once the beta has kept walking and joined Erica, Boyd and Jackson on the right side of the room, where they wait for Derek to start the session, Stiles remains on the steps and is unable to look away from said alpha. He knows that Derek is aware of the new arrivals at the station, would've heard them coming when they were still a considerable distance away, but the man doesn't acknowledge any of them yet. It gives Stiles ample time to stare.

And stare he does.

Derek's torso is shiny with sweat. All of his muscles are tensed and appear bigger as he does each pull-up, and Stiles is just entranced. He wants to touch him. He wants to lick him and do so much more. Each time Derek lowers himself, his legs bent in half so that his feet don't touch the ground, Stiles' eyes are for some reason drawn to the dark hairs of the alpha's armpits. He has never taken much notice of anyone's armpits before. They've always just been a part of the human body and nothing more.

Apparently that's another thing that has changed about him lately.

Maybe it's a consequence of hanging out with a bunch of werewolves for too long, but Stiles wants to rub his whole face in them. He takes an aborted step forward and snaps out of his staring when he doesn't immediately fall down the rest of the steps. Looking down, he is confused when he sees flat ground instead of steps, which means he must have already walked forward several paces without realising it. Chastising himself, he looks up again just as Derek does one final pull-up and lowers his feet to the ground. Stiles is only a little disappointed.

"Give me a minute and then we'll start," Derek tells his betas before disappearing into the train car.

"Hello, Stiles."

Prepared for this, Stiles turns to his left and glares at Peter. "Go away."

The eldest Hale smirks. "No can do."

Glowering, his face hot because he just knows that Peter saw him watching Derek, Stiles steps purposefully away from him and walks over to the other four betas, placing Boyd between himself and Peter. If any of them notice the state of his face, they don't comment on it.

"Alright, let's begin," Derek says as he reappears, his torso now covered by a tank top.

* * *

The training session has been going on for just a couple of minutes when it stops again. It reminds Stiles of the last session he attended, and he waits curiously when he hears someone else coming down the steps. A moment later Lydia enters the station, dressed in a tight brown skirt and a clean white blouse, her long strawberry-blonde hair falling in waves down her back.

"Ah, you actually came this time," Peter comments haughtily.

"I didn't come for you," Lydia sneers. "I came because Jackson asked me to."

This exchange confuses everyone else. Derek opens his mouth to say something—Stiles presumes to tell Lydia she can't be there—but then he snaps it closed again, seeming to give up. He looks askance at Stiles as if this is all his fault and then proceeds with training his betas.

"So is this all they do?" Lydia queries, moving to stand next to Stiles so that she is safely out of the way.

"As far as I've seen," Stiles answers.

"It's very…simple, isn't it?"

"I guess."

Lydia falls silent then and just watches as Jackson and Boyd spar with each other. Derek is observing the pair as well, pointing out any missteps they make and correcting their stances. Stiles is the only one not watching, too caught up with what Lydia had said. Two sessions in a row have focused on simple hand-to-hand combat and nothing else. He wonders for a moment if Derek has anything else planned, which of course leads his eager brain to scream several different ideas at him. He tries to put them out of his mind to come back to later, but they refuse to be ignored.

* * *

When the training session eventually comes to an end, Stiles is still thinking about his ideas. No one seems in a hurry to leave just yet, and Stiles says leaning against the wall for a moment before he remembers the food he had prepared earlier. He leaps to his feet, tells the bewildered werewolves and Lydia to stay put and takes the stairs two at a time until he gets outside. He retrieves the burritos and brownies and brings them back down into the station.

"Ta-daa!" he grins, presenting the Tupperware containers with a flourish.

"What's that?" Erica asks, sniffing the air.

Stiles holds out a container of burritos. "Open it and find out."

The next few seconds are a mess, the betas diving ravenously on the food once they know what it is. Stiles manages to hold on to a couple of the containers, one of which he gives to Lydia and the other he saves for Derek, who has stayed out of the way with his eyebrows drawn into a disapproving frown.

"Here," Stiles says, offering the last container to the alpha.

Derek looks at it warily but takes it anyway. "Thanks," he mumbles.

"You're welcome."

"Oh my _God_ , Stiles!" Erica exclaims suddenly, startling the boy.

He turns around to see her stuffing a brownie in her mouth. "You, uh, you like them, huh?" he chuckles.

"Boyd, I'm dumping you," the blonde jokes.

The tall beta doesn't react further than to glance in her direction. Even Jackson seems to be enjoying the food, much to Stiles' surprise. It warms the human boy's heart to see his cooking be received so well, especially given how nervous he was about giving it to them. In his mind, this solidifies his place within the pack as a caretaker or sorts. It comes naturally to him after years spent trying to get his dad to look after himself and eat better.

While the betas finish up their after-training snacks, Stiles lingers by Derek and contemplates how to bring up the ideas he'd had earlier.

"What do you want?" the alpha asks him, looking up from one of his brownies.

"I was thinking…" Stiles starts, rubbing at the back of his head.

"That doesn't bode well."

"Hey!" Stiles lightly smacks Derek's arm, causing his eyes to twinkle. "I'm serious. It's about how you're training the betas."

His concealed amusement vanishing, Derek glares and puts his half-eaten brownie back in the container. "This again," he sighs. "Didn't you have enough to say last time?"

"It's nothing bad, I promise!" Stiles hastens to assure, holding his palms up placatingly. "I mean, this session has been great. No one was injured purposefully, and you were…supportive in your own way, I guess. It's just, there are other things I believe we could be doing, y'know? Other things to improve their skills."

Derek huffs impatiently. "Get on with it."

"Well, we could go out into the preserve and work on tracking scents and stuff," Stiles suggests. "You could like, leave a sweater or something somewhere in there and have the betas find it. Ooh! We could even do rewards! Say, the person who finds it first gets something special, like they get to request whatever foods they want to for the next session! I think that'd be a really good motivator."

Derek's eyebrows rise on his forehead. "Do you now?"

"I mean…" Stiles points to the Tupperware container in the alpha's hands. "You tell me."

Caught out, Derek grudgingly agrees. "Fine, I'll take it into consideration. Happy?"

Stiles' smile is beatific. He pats Derek on the arm this time. "You bet your sweet ass I am, Sourwolf!"

When Derek stares wide-eyed at Stiles, he realises what he has just said and backtracks, his limbs flailing. "I-I didn't mean that!" he squeaks, taking a step backward. He isn't oblivious to the laughter coming from behind him, which only makes him panic more and his face turn even ruddier. "I mean, your ass is great—not that I've looked or anything! It's just an expression, I swear! Please don't kill me…"

"Just stop talking, Stiles," Derek orders, turning and walking away.

"Right. Shutting up now."

"That was pathetic, Stilinski," Jackson derides, shaking his head.

Stiles glares at him. "Yeah, well, what else is new, right?"

* * *

Later, when everyone has left the station to go back to their respective homes, Lydia arrives at hers with Jackson right behind her in his Porsche. When they have both parked, have found out that her parents aren't home and are on their way up to her bedroom to spend a little quality time together, Lydia is dismayed to discover when she opens her door that Peter Hale is sitting patiently on the foot of her bed.

"What are you doing here?" Jackson growls, stepping in front of his girlfriend.

"Relax, boy wonder, I'm just here to revisit a conversation Lydia and I shared yesterday afternoon," Peter says, standing up.

"And what conversation is that?"

Peter moves his gaze to the girl in question. "Lydia?"

"So you're still trying to get them together," she says, braving moving around Jackson and pushing Peter away from her bed.

"Indeed I am."

"Someone tell me what's going on. Right now!" Jackson orders, still not removing his eyes from the intruding beta.

"I came to Lydia yesterday with a proposition, which she agreed to but didn't follow through on until your training session today," Peter explains patiently, perching himself on the edge of Lydia's dressing table instead. "You see, in order to make up for my crimes, I'm trying to do something nice for my nephew and our resident pack human."

"Oh," Jackson says, losing interest and falling down onto Lydia's bed.

"So, Miss Martin, have you reconsidered?"

"Why would I?" the girl asks, her tone laced with hostility.

"Well, I know you saw how Derek and Stiles interacted with each other today," Peter answers, picking up one of the large makeup brushes on Lydia's dressing table and playing with the soft bristles. "I know you've witnessed it firsthand now, the obvious attraction that's there. Do you think Derek would let just anyone speak to him like that, undermine his authority as alpha like that? Because he wouldn't. If you don't believe me I suggest you give it a try next time and see what happens to you."

"Even if that's true—"

"It is."

" _Even if that's true_ , why would I help you?"

"You already agreed to, remember?"

"I just said that to get you to leave me alone, you psycho!"

Peter sets down the makeup brush and becomes serious. "Don't you think you owe it to Stiles to help him with this?"

Lydia frowns, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, from what I understand, he pined after you for years and you did nothing but ignore him until recently," Peter points out, ignoring the low noise of warning he gets from Jackson. "I mean, perhaps he should have backed off long ago when you showed no interest in him that way, and I wouldn't have been able to blame you. But then you went and danced with him at the winter formal and got his hopes up again. Not very nice, is it? Especially when you had no intention of following through."

"How do you even know about that?"

"I know lots of things," Peter says dismissively. "The point is, now Stiles actually has a chance at entering a relationship with someone who likes him back. Seems to me, if you really are his friend now like you claim to be, you should be invested in his happiness."

Reluctantly, Lydia sees where Peter is coming from. She really wants nothing to do with Peter, but she knows he'll just keep hounding her about his silly little plan if she doesn't agree properly to participate. "Alright, fine, I'll do it," she acquiesces, sitting down next to Jackson. "I'll help with Phase 2 of your plan, but after that we're done. You don't come near me. Got it?"

"Got it," Peter smiles, pleased things are going his way.

"What's Phase 2?" Jackson asks, sitting up, suddenly invested again.

"Lydia flirts with Stiles to provoke Derek, of course," Peter apprises, pushing away from Lydia's dressing table and walking toward her bedroom door.

" _What_?!" Jackson squawks.


	4. Getting a Reaction

_\- Friday, April 22nd, 2011 -_

Derek lies awake early in the morning and thinks over where his life has gone in recent months. He knows he should already be up and preparing for the late afternoon, for his pack's next training session, but he can't seem to force himself out of his crappy bed in the abandoned train car. His surroundings fit the state of his life, he supposes—hollowed out, dirty and cold. He turns over onto his side and stares at the dusty, tenebrous space beneath the rows of seats.

Stiles' suggestions from Monday keep playing through Derek's head. As much as he would prefer not to, he has to admit that the boy's ideas are sound. He _does_ need to train his betas in ways other than brute force, because just that won't be enough to overcome the obstacles and adversaries they will likely encounter for the rest of their lives.

What was he thinking turning a bunch of outcast teenagers? What could have possessed him to make him think that that was a good thing to do?

Now, Derek seriously regrets it. Sure, he saved Isaac from an abusive father, Boyd from his loneliness and Erica from her epilepsy and bullying, but at what cost? He could have saved Isaac from his dad another way, gotten the law involved somehow, and Erica and Boyd would have been fine eventually, when high school ended for them and they went off to college. They would have been able to reinvent themselves, encountered a larger range of people and befriended those who were likeminded.

Instead, because of Derek's selfishness and his alpha wolf's need to form a pack as quickly as possible, Erica, Isaac, Boyd and even Jackson are stuck in this life forever. With all of that in mind, Derek can't ignore Stiles' suggestions, not when he owes it to his betas to make sure they are as well-equipped as they can be to deal with the challenges being a werewolf will cause. As their alpha, it's his responsibility to keep them as safe as possible, and he has to get over his pride to do that. He doesn't know how his mother did it, or how Laura coped so well. Maybe she didn't, but that was always the impression Derek had gotten—that, even through the grief of losing most of their family to murder, being an alpha just came naturally to his older sister.

No wonder Derek wasn't supposed to take over whenever their mother died or stepped down.

It's times like these he misses her more than ever. He hates Peter for killing her. He hates his uncle for a lot of things, but taking Laura away from him is the worst offence.

For months after the fire, Laura was basically the only reason he stayed alive. If it weren't for her, it's likely his guilt would have had him joining the rest of their family in whatever awaits every person beyond death, whether that be nothing or some kind of afterlife. She absolved him of a lot of that guilt—not all of it, as he still carries some to this day for the role Kate made him play, but Laura helped enough to keep him going.

She was still the only thing that used to keep him going, really. Back in New York, he'd had a job he didn't like and people he supposes he had once considered friends, but he wasn't that close with any of them. The fact that not one of them had tried to get into contact with him when he failed to return to New York told him they didn't really care about him that much either.

Derek supposes that's the one good thing about his past self turning Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson: He has something else keeping him alive now.

Even so, Derek hates Peter. Ripping the older man's throat out had felt so good at the time, like he was getting justice for his sister's murder, but then Peter had masterminded is way back to life through Lydia and now Derek feels stuck where the dogged beta is concerned.

He could kill Peter again. It would be easy and he doesn't think anyone would try to stop him. But part of him just can't do it. Foolish though it may be, this naïve, stubborn part of him is hopeful that Peter's claims of his sanity being restored aren't just more lies and manipulations. Derek's hatred is unwavering, but he can't yet kill the last other living member of his family when there is a chance—however small—that Peter could be alright again.

With that last thought, Derek decides he has wallowed for long enough. He conjures Laura's voice in his head, listens to her gentle chastisement for indolence and is glad when her words have the effect they have always had in getting him moving. He flings back the thin sheets covering him, stands up and stretches his muscles, which are sore from lying still for so long. When the ache has lessened somewhat, he crouches down beside the duffle bag that contains all of his clothes. He rifles through it for something clean to put on once he has washed up using the hose and bucket he had managed to jury-rig soon after coming to stay in the station.

It's then that Derek hears it, the sound of an approaching motorbike. He sighs, knowing precisely who is riding it. "Great…just what I need."

Hastily, he tosses on the first set of clothes he can see without caring that they're dirty, slips on his shoes and walks out into the terminal to wait for his unwelcome visitor to arrive. The sound of the bike gets louder as Scott gets closer, until it is right above where Derek stands. It cuts off and Derek listens judgementally as Scott gives himself a self-righteous pep talk before descending the steps.

He cuts to the chase when Scott appears. "Why are you here?" he asks tersely.

"We need to talk about what you and the others are doing with Stiles," Scott answers. He walks across the space and stops directly in front of Derek, his arms crossed over his chest and an eyebrow raised, things that are probably supposed to intimidate.

Derek is unaffected. "And what do you think we're doing with Stiles?"

"You're manipulating him to get to me. It's obvious. You need to stop right now. Forcing him to be in your pack won't make me join."

Chuckling darkly, Derek mimics Scott's stance and facial expression to show him how it's done. "Stiles' place in this pack is his decision," he says. "I don't know why I'm even telling you this since it's none of your business, but he came to us, not the other way around. And as for me using him to get to you, why would I still be trying to get you to join my pack after what you did? If we're talking about manipulating other people, seems to me like you're who we should be talking about. You have some nerve coming here after you betrayed me and worked with Gerard behind my back. You have this image of me being the bad guy, but I've done nothing but try to save your ass again and again since I got here. I never lied. You did."

Derek gets an immense amount of satisfaction when he sees a crack appear in Scott's sanctimonious facade. He is sick and tired of people using him for their own ends, of people lying to him and then casting him aside like he means nothing whenever they are finished with him. Enough is enough. "Now, was that all? I have things to do today."

Scott glares. "No, that's not all! You need to tell your betas to back off of my best friend! If you don't, then I'll—"

"You'll what, Scott?" Derek interrupts with a sneer, his eyes flashing. "You'll what?"

"I'll…I'll…I don't know yet! But I'll think of something!"

Not fazed at all, Derek rolls his eyes. "Go to school, Scott, and don't bother me again." He turns away with the intention of going back inside the train car, but before he makes it more than one step his forearm is grabbed and he is spun back around.

"Don't walk away from me!" Scott seethes, looking one breath from wolfing out.

"Alright, that does it," Derek murmurs.

Wrenching himself free of the beta's grip, Derek wraps his hand around Scott's neck and lifts him up off of the floor. Scott's legs kick uselessly. The fronts of his shoes hit Derek's shins, but in his anger Derek barely feels it. He stares up at the insolent teenager's face with blood-red eyes and lets him struggle for a few more seconds before slamming him to the floor. He doesn't release him, instead keeping his hand around Scott's neck and digging his knee into Scott's stomach to keep him down.

"Now, you listen to me," Derek says, his voice calm but still menacing. "I don't know where you got your huge ego from, but not everything is about _you_. What I said about Stiles joining my pack of his own volition was true, and while I admit I wasn't that happy about it at first, he has already proven himself to be more of an asset than you could ever hope to be." Derek doesn't have the time nor the will to figure out why he is defending Stiles so ardently, but he is and he can't stop the words from pouring out. "Unlike you, he's actually loyal. And as for him being your 'best friend', from what I've seen since I've known you, you've done nothing but take him for granted. Do you know what Gerard did to him? Did you even ask him about the bruises on his face?"

Scott stops attempting to escape Derek's hold and frowns up at him. "What?"

"That's what I thought. You didn't. You were too caught up chasing your little hunter girlfriend to pay attention to your 'best friend'."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes you were. I saw everything," Derek steamrolls on. "Let me fill you in, since you were too lovestruck to notice for yourself: Stiles was taken by Gerard—the man you worked with behind both my back and Stiles'—and beaten. The bruises weren't small, but you barely looked at him."

"Why do you care so much?" Scott questions incredulously.

Derek hesitates. He still isn't sure, but he answers anyway. "Like I said, he's loyal, and he actually cares about people other than himself. Both major assets."

"Let me go."

"Are you going to cause more trouble?"

Scott's top lip curls back for a second before snapping back into place. "No," he says grudgingly.

"Good."

Derek relinquishes his grip on Scott's neck and moves back, allowing the beta to leap to his feet. Scott glares at him again before whirling around and storming away. "It's time for you to grow up, Scott," Derek calls after him, causing the boy's footsteps to falter. "I'm not the villain here, and you'd realise that if you got your head out of your ass. Don't come back here until you do, and stay away from my pack. That includes Stiles."

When the sound of Scott's motorbike has faded into the distance, Derek allows the tension to bleed from every muscle of his body and takes a deep breath. The foolhardy confrontation stays on his brain, though. Thinking about it in more depth, he realises that he meant every word he had said regarding Stiles. The weak human boy doesn't mean nothing to him anymore, especially not when he goes back through everything Stiles has done since he was sucked into the world of werewolves, hunters and other supernatural craziness:

Climbing into the front of his dad's police cruiser when Derek was arrested for Laura's murder, lying to his face that he wasn't afraid of him and demanding information to help his friend.

Driving Derek to the veterinary clinic and almost cutting off his arm when Derek threatened him to.

Coming to everyone's aid with Jackson when they were fighting Peter and Kate, armed with molotov cocktails of all things.

Bringing Erica to him when kanima venom induced a particularly violent seizure in her.

Holding Derek up above water for hours when he was paralysed by the kanima.

Getting Lydia to save Jackson, even though it meant helping the girl he liked get back together with someone else.

And Derek knows there must be other things he doesn't know about.

It adds up to one stupidly brave and admirable person, he has to admit. Plus the burritos and brownies Stiles had made for the end of Monday's training session were pretty damn good. Not that he'd ever tell him any of that. Yeah, Stiles could definitely be a valuable member of the pack, so long as he doesn't talk too much. He'd even thought of ways to improve the betas' training and given them to Derek when he knew he could've had his head bitten off for his trouble.

Derek can't pinpoint _why_ he didn't bite Stiles' head off, can't quite put his finger on why Stiles doing something like that—something which should've been seen as overstepping his bounds and calling Derek's leadership into question—didn't tick him off. In fact, the human _had_ actually called Derek's capabilities as an alpha into question at the end of the session before that, and Derek hadn't really experienced much of a negative reaction other than an initial spark of annoyance. If he is honest with himself, he doesn't know where he and Stiles stand now, nor how he feels about the boy, and that frightens him.

It frightens him deeply.

Deciding that he needs to stop thinking about it before he drives himself insane, Derek returns to the train car and picks his phone up from where it lies next to his makeshift bed. He has the numbers of everyone in his pack, even Lydia, so he puts them all in a group chat and informs them that there has been a change of plans.

* * *

Once school has let out that afternoon, Stiles is put in charge of driving Erica, Boyd and Isaac to the location of their next training session, while Jackson and Lydia follow behind in Jackson's silver Porsche. For a minute it is a difficult task because he has to keep Erica and Isaac away from the food he had prepared for afterward, but then he puts Boyd in charge of guarding the Tupperware containers and the blanket he'd packed and the other two betas thankfully settle down.

Stiles was surprised to get Derek's text that morning, which had informed him that they wouldn't be meeting at the train station this time.

Instead, Derek had told all of them to gather outside of the old Hale house in the preserve and things would be explained there. As he pulls to a stop at a red light, Stiles wonders what the alpha has planned. He has a theory that maybe Derek is going to put into practice his idea of having the betas learn to track scents, but he doesn't want to get his hopes up. Maybe all Derek wanted was something as simple as a change of scenery. Although Derek had said he would consider it, it didn't seem to Stiles like the alpha really meant it.

Time will tell, he supposes, choosing to just concentrate on driving.

Eventually, Stiles is turning off onto the bumpy road that leads up to the Hale house and parking in front of the blackened building. Derek is already there, leaning against the side of his Camaro in a tank top and a pair of jeans, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the new arrivals emerge from their vehicles. Stiles thinks that Derek is going to be the death of him with his arms bare like that, and he deliberately keeps to the back of the group when everybody gathers before the alpha and waits to be told what they are all doing there. That way, he can't see Derek as well and is in less danger of making even more of a fool out of himself.

He doesn't want another incident to happen like when he almost smashed his own face in walking down into the station at the beginning of the week.

To his left he sees Peter sitting on the front steps of the house, but he ignores him.

"This session is going to be a bit different than what you're used to," Derek says, not bothering with a greeting. He pushes away from the Camaro and walks a few paces to his left, putting himself within Stiles' line of sight again and making Stiles' efforts for naught. "Instead of combat," the alpha explains, "we're going to be honing your tracking skills."

"I knew it," Stiles whispers, grinning to himself.

His words aren't quiet enough to escape the wolves' notice, and his proud grin turns sheepish when they all look at him strangely.

Derek clears his throat. " _Anyway_ …I've hidden one of my T-shirts somewhere in the preserve," he carries on, reciting Stiles' idea almost word for word. "Don't think this is going to be easy, though. It's a big place, I purposefully didn't leave a clear scent trail, and I made sure to drive here from a fair distance, so you'll have to locate the beginning of that trail first. I'm going to make this into a competition. The winner will be whoever finds my T-shirt first."

"What's the prize?" Erica pipes up, one hip cocked to the side.

"What?"

"The prize. If it's a competition, there has to be a prize, right?"

Derek doesn't reply right away, so Peter replies for him, the smirk on his lips not fading when the alpha glares at him. "I believe Stiles' idea of getting to choose the snacks for next time is a good enough prize. Right, nephew?"

"Works for me," Erica says with a shrug.

"Me, too," Isaac agrees.

"Fine. Whoever finds my T-shirt first gets to make a cooking request from Stiles."

"I already know what we'll be having then," Erica says arrogantly, beginning to tie up her long blonde hair.

Isaac laughs mockingly. "Like you're gonna win."

Snapping her hair tie into place, Erica laughs derisively. "And you think you are?"

"I know I am."

"Bring it on, Lahey."

Stiles sees Derek pinch the bridge of his nose and take a deep breath, his betas' quarrelling obviously testing his patience.

"Enough!" the alpha shouts, cutting off whatever Isaac was about to say next. "Now, on three. One…"

The betas all ready themselves to run, bending their knees slightly so that they can dart off at high speed from where they stand. His self-preservation instincts kicking in, Stiles grabs Lydia's arm and moves them back a few paces, away from the betas so they don't get knocked over or something when Derek finishes counting. Jackson glances their way, his countenance like he is sucking on a lemon.

"Two…"

Derek steps aside, too, making it clear in which direction the betas should run first. The amount of time he waits before saying the final number stretches on for several seconds longer than Stiles thinks is strictly necessary, but he doesn't say anything, not even under his breath. Derek's exasperation seems to have faded, his face—while not exactly shining with happiness—is at least more relaxed, and Stiles doesn't miss the subtle curl of the sides of his mouth. He looks away from Derek's lips before the ever-observant but entirely unhelpful Peter can appear next to him and make a suggestive comment.

Finally, Derek stops making the betas' wait. "Three!" he yells, and the betas are off.

Stiles doesn't even see them go. One second, Isaac, Erica, Boyd and Jackson are all standing in front of him, and the next there is just empty space, leaving him with Lydia, Derek and Peter in front of the Hale house. It's an odd mix of people. When the latter gets up off of the steps and walks toward him and Lydia, his purple V-necked T-shirt and dark-blue jeans as tight as ever, Stiles is immediately on edge. Peter has a gleam in his eyes that is directed at Lydia, and all the things Peter has done to her spring to the forefront of Stiles' mind.

"Can I help you?" he asks the eldest Hale, his tone short.

"No, just needed to stretch my legs," Peter replies. It's not a good lie, but as long as he doesn't do anything, Stiles chooses not to call him on it.

"Behave, Peter," Derek chastises, obviously sensing Stiles' unease.

"Whatever you say, nephew."

In the next second, Lydia does what Stiles had done moments earlier and moves him with a dainty hand around his arm. She drags him away from Peter and closer to Derek, which Stiles both approves of and fears. On the one hand, more distance between them and the recently resurrected beta is always a good thing, especially in Lydia's case, but _less_ distance between him and Derek can only be bad for him. Because of this, he positions himself so that Lydia is between the two of them.

For a little while, no one speaks.

Derek's gaze is directed between the trees, obviously listening for any small sound that may carry to his ears from wherever the betas are. Peter lingers where Stiles keeps him in his periphery, his hands clasped behind his back, his chest thrust out and his face tilted up, his eyes on the section of blue sky they can see from the large clearing. He looks the picture of innocence, but Stiles doesn't buy it for a heartbeat. Eventually, when Peter doesn't do anything else, Stiles feels safe enough to turn his back fully to the beta. He plans on engaging Lydia in a conversation to pass the time, but when he sees her face he pauses.

Lydia looks anxious about something, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. It's unusual for her, and Stiles is about to ask her if she is okay when she speaks first.

"So, Stiles…" she says, taking a breath as if steeling herself. "What delicious food have you prepared for us today?"

Being outright complimentary is also unlike Lydia, exacerbating Stiles' confusion. "Uh…what?"

"Don't be shy now," the girl smiles, putting her hand on his bicep. "Wow, have you been working out?"

Peter snorts somewhere behind them. "Oh my God…"

Stiles glances over his shoulder at the beta, who seems to be attempting to contain laughter. When he looks back at Lydia, he catches a glimpse of Derek, too. The alpha's head is turned slightly in their direction, his face in profile to them, and Stiles can see that he is frowning and his jaw is clenched. He wonders what Derek is hearing the betas do to cause such an expression.

"Umm, no?" Stiles finally responds to Lydia. "Not unless getting my ass handed to me in lacrosse practice and running away from kanimas and homicidal geriatric hunters counts."

"Well regardless, it's impressive. I don't know how I never noticed it before."

"Thanks, I guess."

"You're quite the catch, y'know," Lydia responds, tilting her head to the side and twirling a lock of her long strawberry-blonde hair around her right index finger. "Smart, caring, attractive, brave, good in the kitchen…yeah, you're _definitely_ a catch."

Feeling more and more weirded out by the second, Stiles takes an aborted step backward. "What's with you?" he enquires worriedly, his eyes widening as something awful occurs to him. He is still close enough to Lydia to touch her, so he grabs her shoulders and stares intensely down at her face, looking for any other sign that things are amiss. "Have you been possessed or something? Because that would be just typical of how our lives are lately. Lydia, if you're in there, blink three times quickly."

The girl knocks Stiles' hands away. "No, you dumbass," she says bluntly. "I'm just pointing out the truth. You're a total catch."

"And you of all people pointing that out is super weird."

Lydia sighs. "Just take the compliment, Stiles. Jackson's lucky I'm already in love with him, but I bet someone else is gonna snatch you up real soon. They'd better get a move on."

"I still don't get it," Stiles pouts, his eyebrows meeting. "Who is 'they'?"

"You'll get it soon."

"You like being vague, don't you?"

"Whatever. I played my part."

"Your part?"

Lydia just walks away from Stiles and goes to sit on the steps of the Hale house, keeping a wide berth around Peter.

Bewildered, Stiles shakes his head to clear it and puts the whole strange incident into a box in his mind. He'll come back to it later. For now, while the betas are off tracking down Derek's T-shirt, Stiles busies himself by sorting through the items Boyd had left on the backseat of his Jeep. He pulls out the blanket first, an old red-and-black chequered thing that belonged to his mother. As he unfolds it and throws it across the middle of what would have served as the Hales' front garden once upon a time, he recalls the many times he had sat on it with her and his dad on picnics in the park.

The blanket saw frequent use until Claudia got sick. To Stiles, it feels good to use it again.

"What're you doing?" Derek asks, appearing suddenly behind him.

With minimal flailing, Stiles spins on his heel and marches back over to his Jeep to retrieve the Tupperware containers, steadfastly ignoring the tantalising whiff he gets of the alpha's scent on his way past. "Setting up for when the others get back," he answers.

"And the blanket?"

"I thought it would be nice." Stiles gathers the courage to look at Derek again, his face daring him to make a comment. "Problem?"

Derek's eyebrows climb up his forehead, but just for a second. "No."

"Awesome."

Left in peace, Stiles opens up all of the Tupperware containers one by one to double-check each of their contents. Once he has ascertained which one belongs to which person—most are the same, but Lydia's and his own are a bit lighter—he puts them equidistant from each other around the blanket with some forks and sits down to finish waiting for the betas to complete this part of their training.

He doesn't have to wait long.

Mere minutes later, Derek and Peter direct their attention in tandem to the same stretch of the tree line and Stiles knows that their numbers are about to go back up.

Erica is the first to reappear, her arms crossed and her body language frustrated. Her clothes are covered in dirt and some of her hair has come out of her hair tie. Stiles guesses that, even with all of her earlier confidence, someone else ended up finding Derek's T-shirt before she could. Isaac shows up next looking similarly disgruntled, so he didn't win either. Next comes Boyd. He is as phlegmatic as ever, no trace of disappointment or frustration on his face, but he doesn't carry a T-shirt with him. This just leaves Jackson, who brings up the rear, his clothes also dirty, the knees of his jeans torn.

Stiles presumes that a scrap happened somewhere in the exercise.

"Bow down," the lacrosse co-captain brags, throwing Derek's T-shirt at him.

"You cheated!" Erica snarls, her eyes flashing gold.

"You're just a sore loser."

"Am not!"

"Stop it," Derek orders. He doesn't raise his voice, but the betas instantly obey. "Jackson, well done. The rest of you, there's always next time."

Coming out of their funk, Erica and Isaac only now notice the setup Stiles has going and their faces light up with glee. Before they can dive on all of it, Stiles points them in the direction of their own Tupperware containers, sparing Lydia from having hers taken away from her before she can even get a look in. With Erica and Isaac already seated, the others migrate over the blanket and take their places. Last to come are Derek and Peter, and there are only two free spots open—one in between Stiles and Isaac, and another on the opposite side of the large circle in between Boyd and Jackson.

Derek doesn't even get a chance to choose because Peter all but runs to the latter location. He claims it as his with a smirk sent his nephew's way, which Stiles thinks seems knowing. Knowing of what, he isn't sure, but the expression is forgotten when Derek sits down next to him, close enough that he can feel the heat of his body.

It's distracting, and Stiles ends up dropping a piece of beef casserole down his front because of it.

"Nice one, Stilinski," Jackson gibes.

His cheeks reddening, Stiles picks up the piece of beef, returns it to the rest of his food and wipes at the sauce that stains the material of his sapphire-blue T-shirt. He is thankful that he chose to wear something dark that morning, so the stain is less visible. When he has gotten most of it off, he sticks his finger in his mouth to clean it and his embarrassment morphs into confusion when Peter suddenly starts laughing loudly across from him.

"What's up with you?" Jackson enquires, his expression like he is smelling something bad. "Did coming back from the dead numb your brain or something?"

"No," Peter denies. He wipes at his eyes, which for some reason don't leave Derek.

Still confused, Stiles glances at everyone else in their group in hopes of them being able to explain it to him, but they all appear to be in the same boat as him. All except for Lydia, who, despite herself, also looks amused.

"Hey—"

Stiles' question is interrupted by Peter. "So, what will our winner be having our very own little chef prepare for the next training session then?"

"Something complicated," Jackson answers with an unpleasant grin.

"Jackson, come on," Lydia chides gently.

"What? I'm just helping Stilinski improve his skills."

"Sure you are."

Jackson shrugs insouciantly. "Believe what you want."

"Just don't leave it 'til the last minute to tell me," Stiles warns, jabbing his fork in the other boy's direction.

"Sure thing."

"I mean it. Otherwise you'll get nothing."

"And what a tragedy that would be," Jackson snarks. The fact that he keeps eating his food with gusto belies his sarcastic words.

"So, does anyone have plans tomorrow?" Erica asks the group with her mouth full.

Lydia shakes her head. "Not really. Why?"

"I was wondering if you all wanted to do something, maybe see a movie."

"Yeah, I think that'd be nice," Stiles agrees, looking forward to it already. "Anyone else?"

"I'm in," Isaac says.

"Me, four," Boyd chimes in.

Lydia looks at her boyfriend. "Jackson?"

"I guess," the other boy says unenthusiastically.

"That's the spirit!" Peter teases, putting the lid on his Tupperware container, his food finished.

Erica scoffs and throws him a dirty look. "Who said you were invited?"

"You said 'you all'. I'm part of this 'all', am I not?"

"Barely…" Isaac mutters.

"Fine, you can come. Just try not to be creepy like you usually are," Erica requests.

Peter gasps dramatically as if he is offended by the blonde's insult before drawing an X over the middle of his chest. "Cross my heart," he grins, his gaze flicking over to where Derek sits across from him. "What about you, nephew? You're coming, too, right?"

Derek narrows his eyes, suspicious. "I wasn't planning on it."

"Tough. You're coming."

Peter's focus moves to Stiles for the briefest of moments, and then he looks away again so quickly that Stiles isn't sure it really happened.

About fifteen minutes later, when everyone else has finished their food and piled their empty containers in the back of Stiles' Jeep, the pack gets ready to disperse. Boyd is already waiting patiently in the front of the Jeep, and Erica and Isaac linger next to it while Stiles begins to fold up his picnic blanket with some difficulty. No one is quick to offer their assistance, but out of the corner of his eye Stiles sees Peter give Derek a little shove in his direction. The alpha turns burning eyes on his uncle that have the beta scurrying away, but nevertheless Derek walks over to Stiles and wordlessly takes two of the corners from him so they can fold it up more efficiently.

"Thanks," Stiles says, eyes on his hands as he works.

Once that is done and the blanket is also back in his Jeep, Stiles bids Derek a stilted farewell and gets into the driver's seat, ready to take his passengers back to the school parking lot. He catches Derek watching him strangely in his rearview mirror as he drives away.


	5. Revealing the Secret

_\- Saturday, April 23rd, 2011 -_

The following evening, after having dinner with his dad, Stiles hops in his Jeep, buckles up and drives to the movie theatre, his mind buzzing. It's been an embarrassingly long time since he has done something like this, met up with friends for no other reason that just to spend some leisure time together. Part of it has been the near-constant running for their lives that they've had to do lately, but a lot of it is down to the fact that Stiles has never had that many friends to begin with. And now that he is down his best friend, he is kind of desperate to latch onto something else.

Stiles arrives at the theatre at just before 6 p.m., the time upon which they had all agreed to meet. The parking lot isn't packed, but it is definitely busy with the usual Saturday evening crowd, which means it takes a little longer for Stiles to find a space than it normally would. Eventually he happens across a couple of free ones in one of the back corners, which, when he is out of his Jeep, he notices is right by Derek's Camaro and the beat-up old car Boyd drives. Knowing now that he isn't the first one to arrive, Stiles meanders across the parking lot to the front of the theatre, where the others are already gathered.

Erica and Isaac appear to be bickering with each other. The girl's blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulders and chest, across which is stretched a thin white tank top paired with an almost indecently short black skirt. Isaac is dressed much more reservedly in a simple T-shirt and jeans, as is Boyd, who stands with them but doesn't participate in their argument.

A few feet apart from the trio of betas are Derek and Peter. The former sports a red V-necked henley and his signature leather jacket and scowl, indicating that he would rather be anywhere else, and the latter wears a heather-grey T-shirt, jeans and an expression of amusement from watching Erica and Isaac. As usual, their clothes seem painted onto their bodies.

As Stiles walks closer, Erica and Isaac's words carry over to him and he discerns that they are arguing over which movie they will be seeing.

"We're not seeing _Rio_!" the blonde yells. "What are you, five?"

"It's not just for kids!" Isaac spits back.

"Sure it's not."

"And besides, it'll still be a hell of lot better than the pile of crap you want to see."

" _Scream 4_ will not be a 'pile of crap'. It has Emma Roberts in it. She's a fucking queen."

"Oh wow, I'm sold."

Isaac's sarcastic tone clearly infuriates Erica, but she doesn't rise to it. Instead, as Stiles closes the remaining distance between them, she grabs his hand and brings him forcibly into the argument.

"Stiles, what do you think?" she asks, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Uhh…" Stiles gapes, caught off-guard.

Erica flutters her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him. "You want to see _Scream 4_ , right?"

"I-I don't know," he stammers. "Shouldn't we wait for the others to decide?"

"Nope. We're deciding now," Erica says dismissively, her grip on Stiles' wrist getting just shy of painful. "So, do you wanna be a part of the cool kids and choose _Scream 4_ , or do you wanna be lame like Isaac and choose _Rio_?"

Stiles looks helplessly between the two betas before sticking to his guns. "I'm gonna take a page out of Boyd's book and stay out of this," he says, pulling himself free of Erica and making his escape before she has a chance to capture him again. He feels absolutely no shame about hiding from the blonde behind the impenetrable wall that is Boyd, a spot from which he doesn't emerge until he hears Peter pointing out one of the cars arriving in the parking lot.

"I think that's them," the eldest Hale says, indicating Jackson's silver Porsche. Lydia is in the passenger seat.

"Yup, that's them," Erica confirms. She glances at where Stiles' face peeks out from around Boyd's arm. "Maybe Jackson'll man up and make a decision."

Stiles pouts back at her. "I resent that."

A couple of minutes later, the pack is complete when Jackson and Lydia join up with the rest. Like she had with Stiles, Erica pounces on the couple and demands that one of them break the tie. Stiles demands it in his head, too, if only to put him out of his misery so he can stop using Boyd as a human shield. Like the other guys had, Jackson stays out of any decision-making and leaves it up to Lydia, who, after some hemming and hawing, comes down on Erica's side, much to Isaac's disappointment.

"Look at it this way," Stiles tells the taller boy, finally emerging from his hiding place, "it's not like this is the last opportunity you'll have to see Rio. It'll still be showing for a while." He pats Isaac on the shoulder and then removes his hand quickly when Isaac frowns at it.

The decision made, Derek and Peter return to the others and as a group they head to the ticket window. Stiles extracts a few crumpled bills from the pocket of his chinos, his money to pay for his ticket, but he soon learns that he needn't have bothered visiting the ATM that afternoon when Peter elbows Derek in the ribs. The alpha glares at his uncle but nevertheless takes out his wallet and ends up paying for everybody's tickets, handing over a shiny credit card to the terrified-looking woman behind the glass. Stiles recognises it as one of the cards with a crazy-high spending limit and wonders how Derek has it and lives where he lives.

"Eight for _Scream 4_ ," the bearded man says.

Peter elbows him again, earning another glare before he turns back to the theatre employee and bites out, " _Please_."

After swiping the card and printing out the requested tickets, the woman gives it all back to Derek and looks glad when he moves away from the window. Derek begins shuffling through the small slips of paper, but before he can begin to put them in some sort of order and give them out to everyone, Peter snatches them all from him.

"Hey!" Derek snarls.

"Relax, nephew," Peter grins unrepentantly, "I'm just giving you a helping hand."

"I didn't ask you to. Give them back. _Now_." Derek holds out his palm.

Peter ignores him, looks through the tickets and passes them out to the other members of the pack. Stiles takes his with some trepidation and looks down at it to see the seat Peter has given him. From the many times he has been to this theatre in the past, he is able to figure out that he is in the very back row, in the corner. While not the seat he would have chosen for himself, he is reasonably okay with it and offers no protest as everyone shuffles inside of the building and gets in line to buy snacks.

Stiles has some extra money thanks to Derek buying his ticket, so he goes a little overboard, coming away with a large strawberry slushie, a container of buttery popcorn and a couple of bags of Reese's Pieces. For a moment he feels like a total pig when he has paid and moves out of the way next to Derek, who just has a bottle of water, but then the betas start appearing with their arms even more full than his and he feels better about himself.

When they get into the theatre itself and walk up the stairs to reach their seats, Stiles isn't worried at all about who he will be sat next to. He just walks down the aisle until he reaches the corner and starts the lengthy process of making himself comfortable, arranging all of his snacks so that they are in easy reach. It's only when he goes to put his slushie in the cup holder and finds a bottle of water already there that Stiles realises what Peter has done, no doubt the whole reason the beta insisted on 'helping' with the tickets in the first place. Derek is right next to him, sitting rigidly in his seat with his leather jacket folded up in his lap.

For a split second Stiles panics, but then he tells himself to get a grip.

Of course, he could switch seats. He is sure one of the other members of the pack wouldn't mind switching with him, or he could move to one of the many free seats elsewhere in the theatre. But, because he is trapped in the corner, he wouldn't be able to do it subtly, and he really doesn't want to draw attention to himself—especially not Derek's attention. That would work out one of two ways:

Result A: Derek thinks Stiles doesn't like him and is offended.

Result B: Derek realises the true reason for Stiles' discomfort and hates him.

Neither option is good, so Stiles stays where he is and wishes he had another molotov he could lob at Peter's head.

* * *

Stiles still hasn't been able to relax properly by the time the movie is about halfway done. He barely sees anything that is happening on the giant screen, nor does he hear any of the dialogue or the sounds of violence, his ears already filled with the sound of his own internal screaming. His hand has long gone numb from holding onto his now-melted slushie, he has hardly touched his popcorn and both bags of Reese's Pieces are unopened. Even though he doesn't have the courage to look his way, Stiles can't focus on anything but the man in the seat right next to him. It's almost like they are on a date or something, which is probably exactly the idea Peter wanted to put in his head, the undead bastard. The thought won't leave him.

Having an active imagination can be a good thing sometimes, but Stiles isn't happy about it now.

Instead of the movie, he keeps seeing things he wants with an embarrassing amount of desperation but will never have in a million years. He sees himself and Derek on a real date, without the rest of the pack there. He pictures the two of them still tucked away in the corner of the mostly empty theatre, sitting even closer together, maybe even holding hands over the armrest. Of them being a cliché and making out instead of watching the movie.

Stiles gets stuck on this image for a long time, unable to stop thinking about how it would actually feel to kiss Derek. He wonders what the alpha's beard would feel like on his face. Because he is apparently a masochist, this particular fantasy doesn't just end with making out in the back of the theatre. No, it keeps going, forcing Stiles to picture the movie ending and the imaginary date progressing back to Derek's place. Derek laying him down on his crappy bed in the train car…climbing on top of him…and—

 _No_. He cuts that thought off with a shaky breath. It's too dangerous to think about, as evidenced by the fact that the crotch of his chinos feels a bit tighter than usual. Mortified, Stiles moves his slushie on top of it, hoping the coldness that still remains will help tame his unfortunately timed state of arousal. He is thankful when it works, but out of the corner of his eye Stiles still sees Derek glance at him with a frown and knows he was too late. Derek probably already smelled what was happening to him, and for a moment he thinks the man has figured it out, that he knows how Stiles feels about him. But then he looks back up at the movie, sees blood and viscera and deduces that Derek has attributed his arousal to the murder that has just happened, which is even worse.

Fuck.

Stiles spends the rest of the movie hunkered down in his seat, willing himself to disappear. By the time it ends, his wish still hasn't been granted. His head aches with the amount of blood that had rushed up there after he caught Derek looking askance at him and had refused to return to his body.

"That was so good!" Erica effuses as they all step back outside. "What did you guys think?"

"It was alright," Jackson answers, looking bored.

"Oh please, I saw your face when the killer was revealed. You were totally into it," Erica says with a grin, pouncing on the opportunity to tease the other beta.

"Whatever…"

"Just admit it. You enjoyed it."

Jackson crosses his arms stubbornly. "Nope, I'm saying nothing else."

"Ugh, fine. Spoilsport," Erica sighs, turning to Isaac instead as they start walking across the parking lot to their respective vehicles. "What about you?"

"It wasn't as terrible as I thought it'd be."

"I told you it would rule!"

Isaac rolls his eye. "I didn't say that. I still would've preferred _Rio_ …"

"Stiles?" Erica asks, her eyes flitting over to where he walks at the back of the pack, trying to stay unnoticed.

"W-what?" he responds, having not really been listening.

"What did you think of the movie?"

"Oh! It was, uh…I liked it," he lies. Even to his own ears it sounds unconvincing. "Yeah, very cool."

"Very," Peter interpolates, his eyes alight with mischief as usual. "I have to say, I didn't see the reveal of Kirby being the killer coming. Did it shock you, too, Stiles?"

Stiles doesn't see the confused expressions on everyone else's faces because he is deliberately avoiding looking at any of them but Peter. The eldest Hale is safe, since he is already aware of Stiles' desire for Derek. "Uhh, yeah, that surprised me," he agrees. He attempts to act something close to normal but knows he has done something wrong when Peter's mischievous gaze gets even more so.

"What the hell are you talking about, Stilinski?" Jackson sneers. "Kirby wasn't the killer."

"She…she wasn't?" Stiles gapes, realising he has just fallen for yet another of Peter's traps. He grits his teeth.

"No. Did you even watch the movie?"

"I guess he was too distracted by something," Peter offers, his eyes flicking pointedly to Derek, who doesn't seem to notice. "Or someone."

"I really hate you," Stiles tells the beta. "So damn much."

Erica gasps suddenly, drawing everyone's attention to her. Her eyes are wide.

"What's up with you?" Isaac asks her.

"Oh, nothing!" the blonde says too quickly.

When she glances at him, Stiles knows it isn't nothing. He knows Erica has figured out what Peter was getting at, and his fight-or-flight instincts kick in.

"Alright, well, this has been fun. We should do it again sometime!" He laughs nervously as he backs away toward his Jeep. He makes sure to keep everyone in his sight in a sudden burst of paranoia, until his back hits the side of the large blue vehicle sooner than he was expecting, causing him to jump. He ignores the concerned looks on the pack's faces—even Jackson looks a little worried for his sanity—and fumbles blindly for the handle of the driver's door so that he can escape the unpleasant situation Peter has so rudely dropped him in.

When he finds it, Stiles wrenches the door open and falls backward into his Jeep with a forced, "See you on Monday!"

"Stiles, wait!" Erica calls. "You're coming to the training session tomorrow afternoon, right?"

Stiles hesitates. "I don't know."

"You owe me food, Stilinski," Jackson reminds him haughtily.

In spite of his own self-preservation, Stiles just can't say no when he sees Erica's puppy-dog eyes. "Fine, I'll be there. Now, I gotta go; my dad's expecting me."

Slamming the driver's door, he starts the engine and tears out of there once everyone is safely out of the way. He resolves to do everything in his power not to allow Peter to put him in a position like that again.

* * *

_\- Sunday, April 24th, 2011 -_

Danny Mahealani doesn't get angry very often. He never has. Even when he was a child with less control over his emotions, his feelings of anger were few and far between. He supposes part of that is because that's just the way he is, but some of it definitely comes from being best friends with Jackson Whittemore. The other boy is infuriating and rash to the point where Danny sometimes wonders why they have remained friends for so long, but Jackson can also be kind, considerate, when he really wants to be. Danny has seen it first- and secondhand.

Well, Danny is angry now.

For weeks Jackson has been avoiding him, running out without explanation or just straight-up lying to his face. Sure, Danny has other friends he can hang out with, so he isn't exactly lonely, but none of them know him the way Jackson knows him. And, if he's honest, he just misses his best friend.

It doesn't help that Lydia has all but dropped off of the map as well, but at least with her Danny can understand a bit of it. He doesn't know what has been going on with the redhead of late because of the aforementioned secret-keeping, but she seemed to be going through something horrible and deeply personal which visibly affected her. Her popularity took a nosedive and she never really recovered, and Danny couldn't avoid the rumours that were spreading about her through the school halls. She was crazy, they said, and—as much as he didn't like it—after a couple of the displays Danny had witnessed, he couldn't really fault his peers for jumping to such conclusions. It definitely looked like she was slipping.

There is also the fact that Jackson has been seen with people who, just a month ago, he would never go near. Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey and Vernon Boyd. Danny hasn't got a problem with any of the four, but he also doesn't understand what could have caused Jackson to have such a drastic a change of heart and ditch him to spend time with them.

At first, Danny gave his friend the benefit of the doubt, but his patience can only stretch so far, and the rubber band is about to snap.

On Sunday morning he is up at the crack of dawn, ready to confront his missing best friend about his recent behaviour. He knows Jackson usually goes for a run at this time on the weekends, so he doesn't worry about him not being awake as he has a quick shower and makes himself a couple of slices of toast for breakfast. When his hunger has been sated, Danny checks that his phone is in the back pocket of his jeans, just in case his parents don't see the note he left for them on the fridge and want to get in touch with him, before he moves to the front of the house.

As he reaches for his keys in the bowl by the door, there comes a knock on the other side. Through the misted glass pane that is fixed in the top half Danny can see a silhouette, tall and distinctly masculine.

He doesn't think he or his parents were expecting anyone, so he is cautious as he unlocks the door and opens it just wide enough to see outside.

"Yes? Can I help you?" he asks the man who waits on the porch. He seems vaguely familiar.

"I think so. Danny, right?" the man answers. He has short brown hair and wears tight clothing and a smarmy smile that is still somehow attractive. "In fact, I think we can help each other."

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

The man's smile stretches wider. "My name's Peter Hale. Perhaps you've heard of me."

Recognition dawns. Danny _has_ heard of him. Before this year, the name 'Peter Hale' was a distant memory, something he had read a couple of times as a child after the Hale house burned down and most of the family was killed. He was too young then to really grasp the tragedy of such an event, but all of it was stirred up again very recently when the fire was finally solved, ruled as arson and the culprit was caught—none other than Allison Argent's fucking _aunt_. Danny still doesn't know what to make of that, so he had said nothing.

He had always thought of Beacon Hills as this quiet, idyllic town where nothing bad really happened—at least that was his experience—but that parochial worldview has been broadening lately, what with all the murders. Some of which he believes were committed by the man in front of him now. Who, as far as Danny is aware, should be dead. He says as much and takes a step backward, the reality of having a known murderer on his porch setting in.

Peter chuckles. "Yes, death didn't really suit me, so I made sure it didn't stick."

"W-what?"

"Relax, I'm not here to hurt you," Peter reassures, holding up his palms. He takes the space Danny has unintentionally made as permission to enter, stepping over the threshold and shutting the door behind him. "Now, I believe we have a lot to talk about, and a lot of it involves your friend, Jackson. You're mad at him for keeping so many secrets from you, right?"

Danny frowns, his heart racing. "How did you know that?"

"I know a lot of things," Peter says vaguely, walking around Danny and into the living room like he is welcome and Danny's parents aren't upstairs and liable to wake up any minute. He pokes his head back out when the teenager doesn't immediately follow, his expression impatient. "Come on, let's talk. Your friends have been keeping a lot from you, so we have a lot to go over if you want to confront Jackson before he gets too busy again. Then, after I've filled you in, I'll tell you why I'm here. Deal?"

Against his better judgement, Danny trails after Peter to hear him out.


	6. Confronting a Friend

_\- Sunday, April 24th, 2011 -_

After dragging himself out of bed, taking a quick shower and getting dressed in clothing he put very little time or effort into choosing, Stiles is in the middle of preparing some pancakes for himself for breakfast when he hears the front door open in the foyer, letting him know that his dad is home from the sheriff's station. The sound is followed by footsteps coming closer, and then the sheriff enters the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge. His dull-beige uniform is wrinkled from a long night's work. He has the top few buttons of his shirt undone, the first step to unwinding, and his gun holster is no longer on his waist. Stiles assumes that his dad has already safely stored it away like the dutiful officer of the law he is, most likely in the safe in his study.

"Hey," Stiles greets, tossing a grin over his shoulder. "How was work?"

"Tiring," the sheriff responds, emerging from the fridge with a cold beer in hand. He twists off the top and tosses it carelessly on the side before taking a drink. "I swear criminals are getting stupider and stupider."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just a shoplifter who seemed like he _wanted_ to get arrested."

"Ah." Stiles nods understandingly. "D'you want any pancakes?" he asks his dad, sliding one of them onto the plate he has next to the stove.

"I'm good."

"Suit yourself. Just means there's more for me."

Stiles continues preparing his breakfast until the last of the batter is gone and he has a stack of six pancakes waiting for him. He steps around his dad, gets himself some butter and maple syrup and drizzles an excessive amount over the top of his stack, not caring about the judgmental look he can see on the sheriff's face out of the corner of his eye. He expects it to fade within a few seconds, and it does, but its place is taken by something curious and suspicious that sets Stiles on edge.

"Something the matter?" he enquires, leaning against the counter and stuffing a forkful of his breakfast in his mouth.

"I heard something interesting as I was leaving the station," his dad says, setting his beer down next to the cap, small beads of condensation forming on the glass. "It was about you."

His eyes widening infinitesimally, Stiles falters in his chewing and chokes when he swallows. He blinks back tears, coughs a couple of times and then, even though he knows it's already far too late for that, he attempts to act nonchalant, like he isn't panicking internally about whatever his dad could have overheard or been told. "Oh?"

"When she came in for her shift just before I left, Tara said she saw you yesterday."

"I don't see what's so interesting about that," Stiles says dismissively. "We see each other all the time."

"You do, but it was more who you were with. Can you tell where I'm going with this?"

"No," Stiles lies, stuffing another forkful of pancake in his mouth so he doesn't have to talk. He avoids meeting his dad's gaze again.

"Are we really going to play this game?"

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"Funny, because the fact that you can't seem to look at me makes me think that you do. Please don't lie to me. Not again."

Stiles winces at the reminder that he has been lying to his bad basically every day since the year began. He feels horribly guilty for it. Keeping his dad safe from all of the supernatural happenings around town has been one of his top priorities since Stiles got sucked into it through Scott, and he tells himself that the reasoning behind it is still sound.

But, honestly, the reasoning is starting to become less convincing. Would it really be so bad if the sheriff knew? Stiles isn't sure, but as his dad waits for him to speak, he supposes that it's a moot point. It isn't his secret to tell anyway—it's Derek's, and Derek would never go for it.

Stiles puts his plate down, his appetite gone, and requests for his dad to just come out with it in hopes of avoiding saying more than he has to and giving away something crucial.

The sheriff is too smart for that to work, though. His face, which had been open and imploring, begging his son to tell the truth, is now disappointed, an expression that reminds Stiles of the time he and Scott had basically got him fired when they were trying to get through to Jackson about being a kanima. He thought he couldn't feel any more awful about that, but apparently he was wrong.

"Why are you spending time with Derek Hale?" his dad asks shortly, his patience wearing thin.

Stiles has trouble swallowing again, his throat suddenly feeling the size of a pinhole. "He's…my friend," he answers, opting for a half-truth.

"Your 'friend'? You're 'friends' with Derek Hale, the man you once accused of murder?"

"Water under the bridge."

The sheriff frowns deeply. "Why?"

"Why what?"

The sheriff sighs. "Why are you friends with him, Stiles?"

"I dunno. He's not as bad as I thought he was, so…it just kinda happened."

"And how long as this been going on?"

"A couple weeks," Stiles reveals, fidgeting nervously.

The sheriff is quiet, thinking, and then he crosses his arms over his chest and moulds his face into something stern. "I'm not sure I approve of this. I want you to stop seeing him."

The words 'seeing him' come with connotations that do nothing good to Stiles. They make him realise the context in which this conversation could be seen, the context in which his dad could very well already be seeing his and Derek's tenuous friendship, and it takes him a moment to recover. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm deadly serious. He may have been exonerated of his sister's murder, but that man is trouble, and I think you've gotten into enough of that lately, don't you?"

"Dad, I just— It's just— I can't!"

"You can and you will," the sheriff orders. His tone brooks no argument, but then, with Stiles staring at him, stunned, he seems to rethink things and switch tactics, his whole being softening. "Where is Scott in all this? I haven't seen him around here lately."

"We're not speaking right now."

"Because of your 'friendship' with Derek?"

"Partly."

"This is what I'm talking about, son. You and Scott've been in each other's pockets practically since you were in diapers," the sheriff says, dropping his arms to his sides again. The change in body language helps to make it appear less like Stiles is being reprimanded, but it doesn't make Stiles feel much better about their conversation.

"You say you've been friends with Derek for two weeks," the sheriff goes on. "That's about the same time you stopped being friends with Scott, am I right? Think about how this looks from my perspective, Stiles. You suddenly cut ties with your best friend of over a decade and replace him with a man several years older than you who has been involved in all manner of trouble since he got back into town a few months ago—trouble I _know_ he's dragged you into as well. It doesn't look good."

Stiles stares at the wall. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I want you to tell me what's happening. I want you to stop freezing me out of your life so I can stop wondering what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong, dad," Stiles assures. His words sound inadequate to his own ears.

"Then why are you keeping so many secrets from me? Sneaking around with people you shouldn't, ditching Scott. Neither of us deserve that, Stiles."

"You don't know what Scott deserves!" Stiles glares, anger flaring at his dad defending the beta. "You don't know."

"You're right; I _don't_ know, because you haven't told me. _Tell me_."

Seeing an opportunity to at least get them more on even footing, Stiles pushes down his anger and, even though he can't give him everything, he gives his dad something. "You remember when I mouthed off to those guys after that lacrosse game and they beat me up?" he starts. He waits for his dad to nod before continuing. "Scott didn't ask what happened, didn't even notice. He just went off with Allison again, like he's been doing for months now. Derek is a small factor, but _that's_ the main reason we're not talking to each other, because it's like I don't mean _shit_ to him now."

"Language," the sheriff chides, an automatic thing.

"But it's true! Or at least that's how he's acting! If anyone's been replaced, it's me."

His dad's countenance is sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that, but this isn't that uncommon. Sometimes, when someone enters a new relationship, especially if it's their first serious one, they—"

"That's not what this is, dad. Scott's just…changed. He only thinks of himself now, so until he wakes up and gets over himself, we're no longer friends."

The sheriff looks like he wants to say more on the matter, but thankfully he doesn't. "And how exactly does Hale fit into all of this?" he asks, so carefully that Stiles suspects he doesn't want to overstep and make him close up again before he can get to the bottom of this. Stiles has to admit that it's nice to get all of this out, so he has no intention of stopping now. He'll just keep the supernatural elements out of it.

"Derek's a good guy who had a lot of bad stuff happen to him. I—all of us—just misunderstood him. So I gave him another chance and yeah, we're friends now. We're all friends—me, Derek, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Jackson and Lydia. It's nice."

The sheriff raises one eyebrow disbelievingly. "Jackson, as in Jackson _Whittemore_ , the boy you and Scott kidnapped? The boy who has you under a restraining order?"

"That's water under the bridge, too."

"Really?"

"He's still kind of an ass," Stiles concedes, "but we're getting along."

"We'll come back to that another time. I'm still not sure about all this, son. Jackson is one thing, but I just can't get behind you being friends with Derek Hale."

Stiles doesn't like where this is heading. The possibility that his dad could try to force him to cut ties with Derek and, by extension, all of his friends when he only really just got them, leaving him with nothing, makes it hard to draw air into his lungs. There's so much untapped potential there that Stiles needs with every fibre of his being to be a part of, potential for something great, something that could almost be familial.

But, as bad as being forbidden from speaking to any of the betas or Lydia again would be, the worst part is definitely the thought of not seeing Derek, even though all seeing him seems to do to Stiles is cause him anxiety and sadness because he wants something that will never happen.

No, he has to keep them all in his life. Especially Derek.

"Just give him a chance!" Stiles entreaties, struggling to keep himself calm. "He's not a bad guy! He's just been given a raw deal by a bunch of people and he closed himself off because of it. He was the one who noticed that something bad was going down between Isaac and his dad and reached out to try and help him. He protected me from his own damn uncle, and from Kate Argent. He even saved my life when Matt was threatening everyone at the station. Surely all of that has to count for something!"

The sheriff appraises Stiles for a long time before saying anything else. He takes a deep breath, and Stiles knows he has come to a decision. "Alright," the eldest Stilinski says, "I'll give him a chance."

Stiles barely resists throwing his fist in the air in celebration, which is a good thing because his dad's agreement comes with a caveat.

"I'll give him a chance," the sheriff repeats, "but if I see the slightest indication that he's bad for you, I'll do everything I have to do to make sure he's out of your life. Understood?"

Stiles nods seriously.

"Good. Also, I'm working the night shift for most of next week, but over the weekend he's coming here for dinner so I can determine for myself how much of a good guy he is or isn't," the sheriff says authoritatively. "And that's final. He can pick the day, but if he can't clear his schedule and make it here, then I'll have to assume he isn't serious about being your friend and, again, he's out of your life. D'you understand that, too?"

Gulping, Stiles nods again.

"I know this may seem harsh or that I'm being unfair, but I'm just looking out for your best interests," the sheriff reassures. "Now that we've got that settled, I should get some rest. I'm exhausted." He downs the rest of his beer and pats Stiles' shoulder on his way out, and then Stiles is left by himself, wondering how the hell he is supposed to ask Derek to dinner.

"I'm so fucked."

* * *

As Derek finishes preparations for his betas' next training session just before it is scheduled to start, he can't stop his mind from wandering to how oddly Stiles had acted at the movie theatre the previous afternoon. He has long got used to the human's antics, to his loquacious and twitchy nature, but Stiles' behaviour then was something else. It was obvious that the teenager was uncomfortable during the movie and was desperate to get out of there by the time they were walking back to their cars, but Derek can't think of a reason why.

Or rather, he can think of one, but he stubbornly ignores it.

At first, Derek had thought that Stiles was uncomfortable sitting next to him because, after how he had been treated in the past, he still doesn't really like him and being in close proximity to him for an hour and a half was unbearable. But then another possibility had occurred to him, one so dangerous that Derek barely entertained it before tossing it aside as false. If he hadn't, it would've meant reevaluating his own feelings for Stiles for the hundredth time in four months.

Derek had held basically nothing but disdain for Stiles for weeks after they'd met, and the feeling was mutual. He'd found him too loud, too talkative and meddlesome, constantly butting in on things that didn't concern him. It nearly got both of them killed a bunch of times, too, and it had taken Derek a long time to realise that it wasn't stupidity that kept Stiles coming back to face more peril. It was loyalty and love for his friends, a desire to keep them safe and protect them at any cost, even his own life.

Derek had told Scott as much. By then, disdain had faded into indifference, and Derek keeps telling himself that this is still all he feels for Stiles, that the idea of Stiles liking him as more than a friend absolutely does _not_ make his heart beat faster than usual.

Besides, it would be ludicrous for the teenager to like him that way anyway. Derek knows there's nothing about him worth liking, and even if Stiles suffered brain damage and actually happened to see something in Derek that isn't there, it could never happen in a million years. Derek could never do that to him.

He could never be like _her_.

Deciding that it doesn't matter either way, Derek forces himself to stop thinking about it and just concentrates on finishing the setup in front of him. The line of objects he has chosen range in both weight and size. At one end he has a baseball, small and light enough to be thrown without any difficulty, but at the opposite end he has a huge bent-up piece of metal, which used to be part of the train car behind him and is heavy enough that even he, an alpha, had trouble shifting it around. It might be unrealistic to expect his betas to be able to do anything with it, but it's there anyway. Just in case.

Once he is sure he has everything ready, Derek wipes his hands on his jeans and checks the time on his phone. 5:54 p.m. Any time now.

Just five minutes later, Derek hears the first of his betas arriving—Jackson, with Lydia in tow, punctual as ever. They both scrutinise the row of objects on the floor but don't question it yet, apparently content to wait until everyone is present to ask for an explanation.

It takes another ten minutes for that to happen, with Stiles being the last member to walk down the steps. He wears a pair of red chinos, scuffed white trainers and a blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of a muffin screen-printed on the front and the word 'STUD' above it. Over this he wears a long-sleeved brown-and-orange plaid shirt with all of the buttons undone. He looks everywhere but at Derek, and in his hand he carries a bag of the usual Tupperware containers, which no doubt contain whatever sadistically complicated and/or posh recipe Jackson had demanded he make as his prize for tracking down Derek's T-shirt in the preserve a couple of days ago.

Stiles still doesn't look at Derek even when the alpha asks him and Lydia to step off to the side so that they are safely out of the way, which, like the entirety of the pack's outing to the movie theatre, is uncharacteristic of him. Stiles _always_ makes eye contact when he is speaking to someone, and vice versa. He is unfaltering with it.

More concerned now, Derek ponders how to go about finding out what is wrong without drawing attention to the fact that he actually cares. He can't come up with a solution in the time it takes for Stiles and Lydia to settle themselves against a support pillar to watch the proceedings, the bag of food positioned in the small gap between them, so he puts a pin in the problem and speaks to his betas, who are all now looking at him expectantly.

"We'll be doing something new again today," he says, walking down the row of items he had prepared. "Can anyone guess what?"

The betas look at everything again but no one appears enlightened.

"Well, we're going to be testing your strength and accuracy," Derek explains, cutting off the confused silence. He points to the circles he had drawn with white chalk in various places all over the walls and—with much effort—the ceiling of the station. "It's not enough to be strong. You have to know exactly how much strength you need for every possible situation. When you're fighting, you don't want to exert more energy than necessary and risk tiring. That'll get you killed. So, one by one, each of you is going to throw all of these objects at the targets I've made."

Derek looks at Lydia. "Did you bring it?" he asks her.

The redhead nods and extracts a notepad and pen from her no doubt designer handbag.

"Great. Lydia will be noting down how many tries it takes you to hit the targets with each object, and then we'll be doing this again for another session to see how much you can improve on your score. Everyone got it?"

The betas all murmur their assent, so Derek steps off to the side to observe. "Erica, you're up first. Start with the smallest and work your way up."

The blonde werewolf is enthusiastic as she splits from her three peers and saunters over to pick up the baseball. Derek tells her which target to aim at and retrieves the objects after every attempt so that she can try again if she misses or move on to the next one if she succeeds.

Erica's confidence stays for the first few items, even when Peter silently appears from the shadows to watch through one of the windows of the train car. Her short black skirt doesn't inhibit her at all, but then, as the weight she is throwing increases, cracks in her confidence begin to show. She works hard to hide them, but Derek doesn't miss the glimpses of frustration that appear on her face when she thinks no one is looking.

By the time Erica reaches the final object, the large piece of mangled metal, she is sweating and out of breath. No matter how hard she tries, she can't even pick the metal up, which Derek had expected. Still, he is impressed with how well she was able to do, how many of the objects she was able to throw at the targets before she had her first miss. He tells her as much in an effort to make her feel better and then moves on to the next beta.

"Boyd, you're next," he says, gesturing for the laconic teenager to come forward.

When Boyd is near the end of his turn—his accuracy is worse that Erica's, but his strength is greater—there comes an interruption in the form of another car overhead.

"Who is that?" Derek asks his pack, frowning up at the ceiling.

"I dunno," Isaac replies, looking just as baffled.

Jackson stands up from where he had been waiting near Lydia. "That sounds like…"

"Like?" Derek urges.

"That sounds like Danny's car."

Lydia gets up, too, and stares at the side of Jackson's face. "What? Why would he be here?"

"I don't know!" the beta defends. "I didn't invite him!"

"But then who—"

"You!" Derek yells, interrupting Lydia. He whirls around to find Peter smirking at him.

"Correct," the eldest Hale says. He leaves the window and strolls out of the train car, calm as can be.

"First Stiles, then Lydia, and now Danny, someone who doesn't know about all of this to begin with," Derek seethes, storming forward to get up in Peter's face. His uncle is still unaffected, which only makes Derek's anger greater. "Why?!"

Peter glances over the alpha's shoulder before meeting his eyes again. "I had my reasons."

Derek exhales sharply through his nose and is about to rip into his uncle—quite literally—when Danny starts coming down the steps into the station and he has to stow away his wolf. Later on, though, when they are safely away from civilian eyes, he plans on tearing Peter apart. He takes a breath and turns to face the entrance with the rest of his pack as Danny descends the last few steps and stops at the bottom, scanning wary eyes over them all.

For almost thirty full seconds no one speaks, and then Jackson approaches his friend.

"Danny, why are you here?" he enquires.

"I don't know, Jacks," Danny answers, sounding annoyed. "You tell me."

"We're kind of in the middle of…something. You should, uh, you should leave, and we'll talk later, okay?"

"Will we? Because we haven't 'talked' in weeks."

"Really, we can do this later—"

"No, we can do it now!" There's a dramatic pause, and then Danny says, "I'm sick and tired of being treated like I don't mean anything to you, you asshole, and I'm not giving you another chance to put off this conversation. So we're doing this now, whether you like it or not. I know you're a werewolf."

Derek's mouth drops open, stunned. He isn't sure what he thought may come of Danny's intrusion, but he wasn't anticipating this. It takes longer than he is proud of for his brain to come back online, but when it does he looks scathingly at Peter, who still doesn't have the decency to even feign being sorry for his latest indiscretion. Derek just knows that the older man is behind this, a suspicion that is confirmed when Danny keeps speaking.

"I have Peter fucking Hale—an undead _murderer_ —to thank for telling me the truth, because my 'best friend' apparently couldn't give any less of a damn," Danny says vituperatively, thrusting out his arms and shoving Jackson. "I thought he was lying at first—I mean, werewolves? Really?—but then things started to make sense. All the crazy shit that's gone down in this town recently; how all of you seemed to be caught up in it. It just all fit. And then Peter showed me proof." Danny closes his eyes and shudders, Derek suspects because he is recalling Peter showing him his beta form.

When Danny opens his eyes again, the rage has drained from them and he just looks sad. His voice is weak. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jackson's expression is guilty. "I wanted to…"

In spite of how infuriating Jackson can be, Derek finds himself feeling bad for his beta and, before he can contemplate not doing it, he comes to his defence.

"It wasn't his place to tell you," he says, approaching the pair to stand next to Jackson, a show of support. He is tempted to cross his arms, as would be his typical body language in a situation like this, but he forces himself to keep them at his sides in the hope that this openness will help Danny be more understanding.

"At least, it wasn't his place alone," Derek continues. "It wasn't Peter's place to tell you either. It was all of ours. Letting someone into our world is not something that's done lightly. There are a lot of dangers that come with it, and normally, because it affects every member, a pack will make the decision together. It's obviously too late for that here." He sighs. "Look, I can tell that there are a lot of hurt feelings and things that need to be said."

Derek turns to the other people in the station and isn't surprised to find them all hanging on every word. Stiles is actually looking at him, but as soon as Derek attempts to meet his gaze it skitters away again. "I think we'll postpone the rest of this training session. All of you go home, except Jackson and Danny. You two will stay, and we'll sort this out," he offers, even though being the mediator for two fighting teenage boys sounds like the last thing he wants to do. "Is that okay?"

Jackson nods and avoids Danny's eyes.

"Sure," the Hawaiian agrees, cautious yet curious.

Erica, Isaac and Boyd leave first, bidding quick goodbyes to Derek on their way out. Lydia lingers, her desire to make sure Jackson is alright palpable, but she, too, exits the station once the beta has assured her that he'll be fine.

In his periphery, Derek spies Peter slinking back off into the shadows and growls at him that they will be having words when he has sorted things out with Jackson and Danny. His uncle gives him a mock salute before vanishing from sight, which just leaves him and three teenage boys, the third in the form of Stiles. Derek stares at him, silently asking him why he hasn't followed the rest of the pack outside.

"I just wanted to…to give these to Jackson. Y'know, since he was the one who wanted them," Stiles explains, all but throwing the bag of food he still carries at said beta.

"Thanks…" Jackson mumbles, catching it without trouble.

"I, uh," Stiles speaks, looking at Derek's chest because he still for some reason can't look at his face. "My dad—"

When the human doesn't finish the thought, Derek rolls his eyes exasperatedly. "Yes?"

Stiles scratches nervously at the back of his neck, warring with himself about something, before shaking his head. "Never mind. It can wait."

Once Stiles has swiftly vacated the station as well, Derek files their interaction away with the rest of the boy's odd behaviour of late and refocuses on Danny and Jackson, neither of whom appear ready for what is about to happen—not even Danny, even though that was the whole reason he crashed the training session.

"Alright, let's get to the bottom of this," Derek says, desiring to get it over with as fast as possible.


	7. Giving an Invitation

_\- Monday, April 25th, 2011 -_

Allison Argent sits in the middle of her bed and contemplates where her life has taken her since her parents moved them all to Beacon Hills. She wonders how she got where she is now, disliking the person she had allowed herself to become with such vehemence that it makes her physically ill. The time she and her dad had spent away from Beacon Hills was good for them, opened their eyes to the reality around them. Nothing is as it should be anymore. They weren't the good guys in the story like they had told themselves they were, and Allison now feels like she has lost herself.

She misses the happy, kind girl she believes she was before her family's secrets were revealed to her, before her mundane, safe life was overtaken by werewolves, hunters, star-crossed romance and rampant mistrust. Allison looks at herself in the mirror of her vanity, at the necklace that hangs against the left side of the reflective glass. It seems to mock her.

She wishes she didn't know what the wolf pendant means, wishes that her aunt had never given it to her and she was still living in blissful ignorance.

She wishes that Kate had never taken her down to that basement and showed her Derek Hale chained up and powerless.

She wishes Kate was still just the fun aunt who Allison had always admired and not a cold-blooded murderer and a rapist. She wishes that her grandad was still the distant but affable man she used to see him as and not another killer who had no issue manipulating his own family to kill his enemies.

And finally, Allison wishes she could go back and undo every bad thing she did, undo her part in the kidnappings, the torture, the attempted murders of people who should have been her friends. But she can't. Hindsight's a bitch, and she'll have to live with the weight of all of that. She just hopes the people she hurt will be able to forgive her. She knows she won't be able to forgive herself until they do.

That's why her dad brought them back to Beacon Hills, so they can right their wrongs. Today, Allison will return to Beacon Hills High and face the consequences of her actions. She will confront her friends' hurt and their distrust of her with humility, and she'll beg them for forgiveness. And if not that, then at least the hope of being forgiven in the future, once she has proven her sincerity. She'll do whatever it takes.

Unable to look at it anymore, Allison climbs off of her bed, rips the necklace off of the mirror and throws it in her dustbin without care. It is soon joined by the letter her grandad had given her, the one in which he lied and tricked her into believing that Derek Hale was the reason her mother was dead. It shouldn't have worked, but she was grieving and searching for an outlet for her pain, and the letter just came at the wrong time. Which…Gerard knew.

God, she was a fool. Derek _had_ bitten Victoria, yes, and while Allison still doesn't know why he did it, he hadn't killed her. She'd killed herself.

It was a tough pill to swallow, that her mother would rather die by her own hand and leave her daughter behind than turn into a werewolf. But swallow it Allison did. She'd had no other choice—it was either that or she would become even more bitter and angry, and that would lose her everything she may yet be able to earn back.

Allison wants to set the contents of her dustbin on fire, copying every melodramatic teen movie she has ever seen, but she thinks better of it. Still dressed in her soft pale-blue pyjamas, she picks up the dustbin and carries it out of her room, down the hall and downstairs. She unlocks the front door and unceremoniously empties the pendant and the letter and everything else in the dustbin into the outdoor rubbish bin. When she slams shut the lid and reenters her house, she feels a release. It's a small thing, but it's enough to give her confidence that maybe everything will turn out alright after all, that she can get some part of her old self back.

She allows herself to smile for the first time in too long.

* * *

An hour later, Allison parks her car in the school lot and gets out, clinging tightly both to the strap of her bag and to her confidence from earlier. Her brunette hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and on her body she wears a maroon jacket over a white T-shirt, some blue skinny jeans and a pair of black pointed-toe boots. Other students mill about as she approaches the front steps of the school, some of them looking her way with interest. She understands why they look—she has been gone for a couple of weeks without explanation—but she would rather they didn't.

Fighting the urge to put her head down, Allison marches through the entrance and down the first hallway, heading in the direction of Lydia's locker. She guesses that the other girl will be the most receptive to hearing her out, seeing as the actions Allison now regrets had affected her the least.

She wonders how much will have changed about Lydia and Jackson in the time she has been gone, how much will have changed about everyone who was involved, whether they recovered or fell apart completely. She hasn't seen Scott since that night in the warehouse, has never quite worked up the nerve to face him, let alone ask him for details.

She hopes Erica and Boyd found their way back to Derek after her dad released them, or that they at least found another alpha to keep them safe. Part of her—the part she hates—hopes for the latter, because from the few interactions she had seen, Derek wasn't a very good alpha. But she tells that part of herself to shut up. It was a tough situation, and she is sure that Derek did the best he could, given that all of their lives were in danger largely because of members of her own family.

It's a humbling thought. Allison holds on to it as she turns the corner and sees Lydia standing at her locker like Allison had thought she would be.

The redhead is facing her, touching up her makeup in the mirror on the inside of her locker door. She hasn't spotted Allison yet, so the huntress uses the time to check her friend over. Lydia looks as put together as ever, which is good but not unexpected. Her hair is tied up in an elegant ponytail at the back of her head, and her stylish dark-brown skirt and short-sleeved white blouse perfectly accentuate the curves of her body.

Allison watches Lydia for a while, standing still at the end of the hallway until the redhead finishes reapplying her lipstick, closes her locker door and finally notices that someone is watching her. Lydia's face is shocked at first, but then it becomes inscrutable and doesn't change as Allison tentatively comes closer.

"Hey," the huntress greets.

Lydia doesn't respond, but she doesn't storm off either, so Allison takes it as a win.

"Can we talk?" she asks, trying hard to refrain from fidgeting beneath Lydia's stoic gaze.

The other girl keeps staring for an uncomfortable amount of time before responding. It's obviously reluctant, but Allison knows that their previous friendship wasn't for nothing when Lydia nods and gestures for her to follow. Allison does, walking a couple of paces behind the redhead as she steers her way through the throngs of other students in the halls. They separate from the crowds into an empty classroom and Lydia shuts the door behind them.

"We have about five minutes before the first bell rings," she says, leaning against the teacher's desk and gripping the edge of it. "Talk."

Allison notes the way Lydia's grip is enough to turn her knuckles white, the only sign of how much being alone with Allison is affecting the other girl. She doesn't blame her. She lays her bag on one of the student desks and clears her throat. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry for what I did," she says earnestly. "It's no excuse, but I was hurting after my mom and I let my grandad tell me what I wanted to hear. It was wrong—I know that now, believe me, I do—but he gave me an outlet for my pain and I took it without thinking things through. I didn't _want_ to think, and I'm so sorry for hurting all of you."

Lydia listens but appears unimpressed. "Is that all?"

"No, but…" Allison trails off.

"But?"

The brunette worries at her bottom lip until the words come to her. "I was wondering if maybe you could convince the others to hear me out, too," she says.

"And why would I do that?"

"We want to make up for what we did to all of you—my dad and I—and I figured you'd be the best person to start with. Can you please at least bring it up with Jackson or Stiles or someone who can ask Derek so we can set up a meeting?"

Lydia stares at Allison for a while, appraising the sincerity in her face. She must see what she was searching for because she eventually agrees. "I'll mention it to Derek," she says, but her countenance doesn't soften. "I think I'm willing to give you a chance, but I can't say if the others will. If Derek says no, then that's that. I won't ask him again."

Allison smiles, pleased. "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm not doing it for you."

"You're not?"

"I'm doing it for the others in my pack because I know they need closure either way."

"Your… _your_ pack?" Allison questions, confused.

"You missed a lot while you were gone," Lydia explains vaguely, just as the first bell rings. "Don't approach anyone else. Same goes for your dad. I'll let you know what Derek says later this week."

Without another word, Lydia leaves the classroom.

* * *

_\- Friday, April 29th, 2011 -_

Derek isn't sure what he expects from this meeting. He had been shocked and apprehensive when Lydia visited him at the train station earlier in the week and told him of the Argents' return. Some of that apprehension remains and probably always will whenever anything to do with that accursed name comes up, but as he stands in the middle of the station with his pack around him, waiting for the arrival of Chris Argent and his daughter, he is mostly curious.

Following Gerard Argent's defeat and the rest of the family's departure, Derek had assumed that they would never return to Beacon Hills, something which had allayed a small part of the tension he always carries with him these days. But apparently he isn't so lucky. He shouldn't have expected any differently, though, because when has luck ever been on his side?

Derek isn't a praying man, but he prays now for the Argents not to cause him any more trouble. He has enough to deal with, what with Danny Mahealani being integrated into the pack, just one more teenager he will have to keep out of trouble. The only good thing is, from the impression Derek had got while he was helping Danny and Jackson sort out their issues and then warming the former up to the idea of werewolves not being an inherently dangerous species, he won't have to keep as close an eye on Danny as he does on the others. Once his anger at Jackson had abated, the human boy came off as very level-headed, smart and someone who plays by the rules, something which will likely be a breath of fresh air amongst the other members of the pack.

Time will tell, though.

Minutes later there comes the unfortunately familiar rumble of Chris Argent's truck above ground, and then the two Argents are in front of him.

Derek had thought to keep the rest of his pack out of this meeting, the risk that violence may break out and one of them could get injured too much for him to overlook. But now, with the Argents present, he is glad he rethought that decision. He feels better not standing alone against them, and as an alpha he tells himself he will just have to be strong enough to deal with whatever may come and protect them all if he has to.

The hunters look around at all the teenagers scattered throughout the station. Erica, Boyd and Isaac are gathered together behind Derek, just in front of the train car. Jackson and Lydia form a pair off to the right, whereas Stiles and Danny are on Derek's left, a pairing that must have only just formed because Derek doesn't remember Danny standing with the other boy just a few moments ago. He frowns at the strange proximity—he hadn't thought they were close—before refocusing on Chris.

"Derek, you're looking well," the other man begins, stopping a few feet from the werewolf.

Derek doesn't say anything back. He just stares, one eyebrow raised as if to say, "Get on with it."

Chris smiles tightly. "Well, let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Let's," Derek responds tersely.

"Wait, where's Scott? Isn't he joining us?" Allison queries.

"No."

"But Stiles is here. Isn't Scott in your pack now, too?"

"Trust me, Allison, you don't want to bring him up in this crowd right now," Erica sneers.

"I don't?"

"No," Stiles reiterates, every muscle in his body held taut. "Let's just say that, after his betrayal the night in the warehouse, none of us are on speaking terms with him."

Allison nods slowly and lets the discussion move forward.

Chris' icy eyes bore into Derek's as he speaks. "We're here to make amends for everything that has happened this year."

"You've got a lot of amends to make then," Jackson scoffs.

"Jackson!" Derek snaps, shooting him a glare to get him to shut up.

"What? It's true."

"Yes," Lydia concurs, patting her boyfriend on the arm, "but let's not needlessly antagonise."

"Why should I believe you?" Derek questions Chris, trying to get things back on track.

"We've come here unarmed in a show of good faith," the hunter says, gesturing to his person. "We got off on the wrong foot, and there have been a lot of misunderstandings between us, but I'd like to think we can both be better."

"Right," Stiles murmurs. " _Both_ of you."

From the startled expression that appears on his face when everyone looks at him, it's clear to Derek that the boy had intended for his comment to be private.

"D'you have something to add, Mr. Stilinski?" Chris frowns.

Derek can see the cogs turning behind Stiles' cinnamon-coloured eyes, debating the pros and cons of elaborating. He is about to redirect Chris' attention back onto him, a protective instinct kicking in that is so strong it catches him off-guard, but Stiles evidently decides that the pros outweigh the cons and keeps speaking before the alpha can even open his mouth.

"The way I see it," Stiles says, "basically everything supernaturally bad that's happened in this town over the past decade can be traced back to your family."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, or did you forget that this all started when your sister came here the first time, screwed with Derek and then slaughtered basically his entire family just because they were werewolves?" Stiles falters momentarily, realising what he has just said and in the presence of whom. He glances Derek's way as if he is afraid of upsetting him, but Derek makes sure to keep his face blank. Now that Stiles has started, he isn't going to stop him. It's tough to hear his past aired so plainly, but he wants to see how Chris reacts.

So subtly that it's almost like he doesn't move at all, Derek nods at him to continue. Taking a deep breath, Stiles seems emboldened by Derek's approval and barrels on with barely a pause, letting all of his thoughts and feelings spill out unfettered.

"You said both you and Derek could be better," he says, "but as far as I'm concerned, Derek was kind of an ass but he hasn't really done anything but react to you, Victoria, Kate and Gerard—hell, Allison, too—as you fucked things up around here. Think about it—none of this would have happened if Kate and Gerard hadn't come to town in the first place. The Hales would still be alive. Peter wouldn't have been in a coma for years with nothing to do but stew in his grief and growing obsession with revenge. None of us," Stiles waves his hands around to make it clear he is referring to his fellow teenagers, "would have experienced all the traumatic shit we've experienced. Just about the only good thing about all of that is that most of us are friends now, which never would have happened otherwise. But it would've been nice to have it without all the life-threatening shit."

Stiles regards Chris suspiciously. "I know none of what I've just said is down to you specifically since you didn't set the fire, but it was still your sister and dad who did. I'm having a hard time figuring out how you think any of us are supposed to even _begin_ to trust you, especially since basically all you've done since you came here is treat us like we're already guilty of something when all we were doing was trying to survive. So yeah, that's what I 'wanted to add'."

For an uncomfortably long time after the conclusion of Stiles' tirade, all there is is silence. No one seems willing to end it until Jackson mumbles, "What he said."

"You've obviously been thinking about this a lot, Mr. Stilinski. You make a compelling argument, and as much as I want to, I can't refute it," Chris says, though from the look on his face it pains him to do so.

"Thanks," Stiles says shortly.

"So where does that leave things?" Isaac asks, his gaze flitting between Chris and Derek.

"I don't know," the alpha sighs. "I'd like to trust you, Chris—it would make things a hell of a lot easier—but I just can't. Not yet, anyway. Stiles was right, but I'd also like to add how you returned to Beacon Hills last week without informing me or even attempting to get my permission, which, in my mind, shows that you don't respect the position I hold as the Hale Pack alpha."

Erica hums thoughtfully. "I didn't know that was a thing."

"This is Hale territory and has been for generations," Derek informs his beta. "All hunters and other supernatural creatures are supposed to seek permission from the alpha before crossing its borders."

"The more you know, I guess."

"I apologise for that," Chris says, some sincerity showing through thanks to the effort it evidently takes for him to push down his ego. To Derek, the meeting is clearly not going how Chris had hoped it would, and with this realisation comes a sense of smug satisfaction.

"There was no reliable alpha when we moved here," Chris continues, "and it didn't occur to me that that had changed. Look…I don't like you, and you don't like me, but I mean it when I tell you that I'd like to live here in peace with my daughter. I admit, my perception of you was clouded by lessons that were instilled in me practically since birth, but I can see now that you're not a bad man. I'd like to reinstate the treaty that our family and yours both signed years ago, stating that, as long as no innocent lives are harmed, we will stay out of each other's way."

Derek assesses Chris warily. "Why should I believe you? The treaty didn't stop Kate," he points out, fighting to tamp down the myriad emotions he always feels at the mention of her name. He clings to the vindictive pleasure he gets from seeing Chris' face cloud over with disgust.

"I can't change what my sister did to you."

"No, you can't."

" _But_ , I can prove to you that I'm not her. If you give me the chance."

"Why not just leave?" Isaac enquires. "Then there'd be no need for this crap."

"If it comes down to it, we will," Chris answers. "But if the last few months have done anything, they've put a few things into perspective for me. It wouldn't be so bad to settle down somewhere for a while, and while I'll still train her, I don't want Allison to have the life I was raised into. She has friends here," he glances at Lydia, "and I'd like for her to be able to foster those friendships. Hopefully it'll keep us both a bit more grounded."

Derek still doesn't trust Chris not to go back on his word, but his heart didn't skip and he finds himself believing what the hunter has just said. He clears his throat.

"Alright. I'll renew the treaty," he says, hoping ardently that this doesn't come back to bite him on the ass.

A smile stretches Chris' lips. "Good. I'm glad."

Derek holds up a hand before the other man can get ahead of himself. "But just so we're clear, if you do anything that threatens me or one of the members of my pack, I won't hesitate to kill you."

His smile dropping, Chris nods sombrely. "You'd be within your right."

"Okay then. It's settled."

"Do you want to draw it up now?"

Derek shakes his head. "No. There should be a copy of the old one in my family's storage. I'll get it and we can make any adjustments from that later."

Accepting this, Chris and Allison remain in the station for a minute longer before taking their leave. Most of the rest of the pack leaves as well, everyone except for Stiles. Derek keeps his senses on the teenager as he enters the train car and retrieves the book he has been reading during his abundance of downtime. He settles himself on his mattress, leaning against the side of one of the seats, and cracks open the book to the page he was last on.

Only he doesn't actually read anything. He keeps his eyes on the page but takes none of the words in because he can sense Stiles standing in the train car's doorway. He radiates anxiety.

When the boy doesn't speak for several minutes, Derek gives up his charade and raises his head. "Can I help you with something?" he asks the teenager.

"Umm…my dad," Stiles says confusingly, struggling to form a proper sentence.

"What?"

"Last Sunday, my dad found out that we've been hanging out. One of his deputies saw us all at the movies and told him."

Derek stays silent and waits for more.

"Anyway, he's kinda threatening to ban me from seeing you guys, especially you, on account of, y'know, all the shit that we've been involved in lately," Stiles relays, picking at his short fingernails, a nervous tic. "I don't want that to happen, but the only way he said he'd allow it is if you…"

"If I what, Stiles?" Derek urges, losing some of his patience.

"If you come to dinner either tomorrow or Sunday."

"What." It doesn't come out as a question this time, but as a flat noise of disbelief.

"Yeah, uh, I think he basically wants to interrogate you to see if you're a bad influence on me or whatever."

"No. I'm not going," Derek says. To him it sounds like a recipe for nothing but awkwardness and judgement. He gets enough people looking at him like he is going to snap and go on a killing spree whenever he has to show his face around town, and he doesn't want to subject himself to an entire evening of the sheriff looking at him the same way.

"But you have to!" Stiles exclaims, his eyes wide and desperate. "I want to be a part of this pack—I _need_ to be—and you know I can be useful! Please?"

Derek tries as hard as he can not to be swayed, but then he makes the mistake of looking into Stiles' imploring eyes. It's just for a second, but it's enough and he feels himself beginning to cave. Glaring at the opposite wall, he curses the weird pull that Stiles has on him. It's only getting stronger as the days wear on, and thus far he has been powerless to stop it.

"Fine, I'll come," he acquiesces, hating being put in this position. He tosses aside his book and gets up again so that they are on the same eye level. "But you'll owe me big time."

The grin that appears on Stiles' face is relieved and impossibly bright. "Really? That's awesome!"

"Just don't make me regret it."

Before Derek can anticipate it and act accordingly, Stiles shoots across the train car and hugs him. Derek stands there rigidly, his arms at his sides. He can't even think of extricating himself—he can't think at all, in fact—but then Stiles pulls back and puts some distance between them again, abashed by his own actions. He avoids Derek's gaze and backs out of the train car, his cheeks turning red.

"I'll text you the details," he informs the alpha, and then he is gone.

Derek doesn't move until the sound of the Jeep has faded, and even then it's only to relax his muscles. As stunned as he had been, Derek can't deny even to himself that he had enjoyed the hug. He'd enjoyed the feeling of Stiles' arms around him a little too much, and his heart refuses to slow down. He knows what it all means. It's undeniable now.

"Derek, what the hell are you doing?" he asks himself.


	8. Coming to Dinner

_\- Saturday, April 30th, 2011 -_

The morning after the meeting with Derek and his pack, Allison is drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen of her house. She is in good spirits for the first time in weeks. Her grief for her mother remains with her, but it's easier to bear now that she is sure she will have more than her dad to help her through it. She was—and still is—grateful for him, of course, but he has his own emotions to deal with and she can't expect him to be there for her twenty-four/seven. No one can be there around the clock, but with her and Lydia's friendship on its way to being repaired, she'll have another person to confide in. It helps more than Allison can possibly express.

Now if only she could muster up the courage to face the one person she had wanted back in her life more than Lydia.

Scott.

Allison hasn't spoken to him since the night in the warehouse, when he'd followed her and her dad outside and tried to talk to her. She had refused and sent him away because she wasn't ready then; the hurt and shame she was feeling was too fresh. Perhaps now that she has had some distance and her guilt has been attenuated slightly by the tentative forgiveness she got from Lydia and the others, she can finally talk to Scott and see where they stand.

She is confused and concerned, though, because of how strangely Derek, Erica and Stiles had reacted to Scott's name in the train station. With Derek, she supposes the disdain was merited, but Stiles? Allison has difficultly understanding why he would react as he had, why he would speak of his best friend with such venom in his voice. She knew things were strained between them, partially because she'd been monopolising Scott's time since she came to Beacon Hills the first time—just something else to feel guilty about—but they didn't _hate_ each other. Maybe something else happened while she was away, something that caused the rift between the two friends to widen further.

Whatever the cause, Allison knows she won't find out until she talks to Scott.

She isn't sure where he'll be presently, whether he has a shift at the veterinary clinic with his boss, Alan Deaton, or whether he'll be home. Maybe he'll be somewhere else entirely. Because spending hours tracking him down doesn't sound at all appealing, Allison dumps her coffee cup in the sink, picks up her phone and shoots him a short text.

_Where are you? Can we talk?_

It doesn't take long for Scott to reply with a text just as succinct.

_Sure. I'm at home._

Now that she has a location, Allison yells upstairs to her dad that she is going out for a while and exits the house without waiting for his reply. She gets in her car, buckles up and drives quickly but carefully to the McCall residence, her stomach churning unpleasantly.

It's a sensation akin to the butterflies Allison always used to feel whenever she knew she was going to see Scott, only it's different now. The butterflies aren't caused by anticipation and desire but by fear and self-consciousness, her actions when she was under her grandad's influence refusing to leave her alone. Maybe it's a good thing, because it will help her not to repeat past mistakes, or maybe that's just what Allison tells herself to make herself feel better about it. Either way, there is no changing it and she is sure the feeling would only get worse if she waited any longer.

It's with this in mind that she marches up to the McCalls' front door without hesitation and knocks before she can talk herself out of it. From inside the house Allison hears shuffling footsteps coming down the stairs, and then the door is pulled open to reveal Scott on the other side. He is dressed a plain black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is dishevelled, like he didn't bother to do anything with it after getting out of bed, and his expression is closed off, something Allison isn't used to seeing directed at her. Even when they were on opposing sides, Scott's face was always incredibly expressive. Sometimes _too_ expressive.

She still thinks he is handsome, but there is an obvious tension between them that prevents her from doing anything. They have air that needs clearing first.

Scott steps aside to grant her entrance and shuts the door behind her with a little too much force, making her jump. "We can talk in my room," he says, walking back up the stairs without checking to see if Allison is following.

On her way past the living room, Allison spots Scott's mom sat on the sofa going through some pieces of paper, bills or something, she supposes. The woman looks up as if sensing eyes on her and smiles at Allison, though the smile seems tighter than usual. The huntress assumes that Melissa is aware of what happened between her and Scott and scurries up to the first floor because she doesn't have the willpower to deal with an aggrieved mother as well as her son.

When she is in Scott's bedroom, Allison perches herself awkwardly on the foot of his bed while the boy opts for his revolving desk chair. He stares at her, obviously expecting her to start since she was the one who asked to come over.

"So…we have some things to talk about," Allison begins, picking at the hem of her red skirt.

"I guess," Scott responds tersely.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you for the past couple weeks. I just had some things to figure out and I couldn't have any distractions."

"So I'm a distraction, huh?"

Allison sighs. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I couldn't face the reality of what was really going on in this town and be thinking about you at the same time."

Scott's face remains impassive. "What 'reality' are you talking about?"

Allison forces herself to stop fiddling with her skirt and answer Scott honestly, sharing the conclusions she and her dad had drawn during their time away. "That what I was doing wasn't the right thing," Allison answers transparently. "That the people I'd been lead to believe were the bad guys weren't actually the bad guys. That took a lot of self-reflection. Part of the reason my dad and I came back here was to make amends with all the people we hurt. We've already gone to see Derek and his pack, and while they weren't ready to forgive us yet, they were at least responsive. And now I'm here, trying to do the same thing with you."

Scott's inscrutable mask shows its first crack when Derek is mentioned, his eyes narrowing a fraction. His body also seems tenser, like he is holding himself back from doing something. "Why did you speak to Derek?" he demands to know, looking at Allison as if she has lost her mind. "He's bad news."

"That's not true, Scott," Allison says quietly. "That was one of the realities I had to face."

"Did you forget what he did to your mom?!" Scott all but yells, standing up from his seat.

Allison is so stunned by the vehemence with which the beta speaks that she doesn't hear his words right away. She wonders where all this anger came from, because she doesn't remember it being there when she left town. She'd known there was no love lost between Scott and Derek, but she hadn't thought it was that bad, at least not on Scott's side.

Before the warehouse, if someone had sat Allison down and asked her about the relationship between the two werewolves, she would have told them that things were the opposite of the way that apparently actually are—that Derek was the angry one and Scott wasn't doing anything wrong. It's just another thing for Allison to add to her list of things she had been too blind or stubborn to realise at the time.

Accepting this, she then registers what Scott has just said and glares. "Derek didn't kill my mom," she refutes, surprising herself by defending the alpha. "He bit her, sure, and I haven't been brave enough to ask why yet, but her death was her own doing—and partially my dad's, since he accepted her choice. But her death wasn't Derek's fault."

At the mention of the bite, Scott's face changes again. It goes from outrage to contrition and fear, like he is hiding something.

"There's something you're not telling me," Allison says, a statement, not a question.

"No there's not," Scott denies, but it's obvious he is lying.

"Tell me, Scott. If it's about my mom, I have a right to know about it."

The beta bites his lip apprehensively, and Allison is sure he is vacillating between capitulating and not. She stares him down until he makes his decision, hoping he picks the right one. She wants no secrets between them because she knows they'll never get back to what they were if there are.

"Your mom…" Scott starts after a minute, sitting back down in his desk chair. He looks at Allison with pity now. "Your mom was trying kill me."

The huntress is once again stunned. "W-what?" she stammers, unable to comprehend it.

"Your mom tried to kill me," Scott repeats, swallowing tightly.

Allison shakes her head. "No, that's…no. She wouldn't do that."

"I know you don't want to believe me, but it's true. I didn't tell you before because there never seemed to be a right time," Scott explains, staring sympathetically at Allison as she tries to grasp the enormity of his revelation. "She didn't like us being together because I'm a werewolf, so she captured me and was going to use some air filter thing filled with wolfsbane to kill me so that I couldn't 'corrupt' you or whatever. I don't know her exact reasoning, but those are pretty much the basics. She would've succeeded, but then Derek must've heard my howl and saved me. He bit her when they fought."

Allison sits in silence for a long time and just stares down at her lap. She wants desperately not to believe what Scott has just told her, but she does. It lines up. Her mom killed herself because she hated werewolves so much and didn't want to live as one, even at the cost of leaving her family behind. Both her parents were always against her relationship with Scott, especially when they found out what he was, so it makes a sick sort of sense that her mother would attempt to murder him.

Allison wishes it didn't, but it does.

"I guess all of you have good reasons to hate us, huh?" She gives a disingenuous laugh and wipes a stray tear from her cheek.

"I don't hate you," Scott says. "What she did wasn't your fault."

Allison doesn't have a response for this, and luckily Scott doesn't seem to expect one. She finishes processing this new information, fitting it into the tattered tapestry of images she has of her family that just keeps getting worse. Then she frowns, just now making sense of the tail-end of Scott's explanation and what it means.

"Wait, you said that Derek saved you from my mom," Allison says, concealing her judgement until she has clarification.

"Uhh…yeah."

"So then why do you hate _him_?"

"I just do," Scott says feebly, and again Allison suspects he isn't being entirely truthful.

"You must have a reason. I know you, Scott," she points out. "You wouldn't feel that way if you didn't think you had a good reason, so what is it?"

The beta looks away for a few seconds before meeting Allison's gaze with a self-righteous one of his own. "He manipulated Stiles into turning against me because he couldn't get me to obey him."

Allison blinks a couple of times and purses her lips. "I see." She thinks Scott is far off the mark but doesn't say it just yet, wanting to find a way to phrase it so that he will take the least offence.

She ponders how they got here. How did Scott go from the sweet and cutely mischievous boy she had fallen for, to the jealous, delusional one sitting in front of her now? Allison doesn't have an answer for herself, so she concentrates on what she will say next in an attempt to get Scott on the path to seeing that what he thinks is happening isn't actually the case. She knows from personal experience that it will be difficult—after all, she didn't listen to Scott or anyone else when she was on her crusade to avenge her mother's death—but she has to try.

"Have you asked Stiles why he seems to have sided with Derek?" Allison enquires gently.

"Yeah, but he didn't tell me. He just got angry."

"And when you asked him, did you start out angry as well?"

"Yeah, I did. I wanted to know why he was hanging around with Derek's betas."

"Did he say anything?"

"Just that he thought I was wrong, and then he questioned if I was his friend," Scott says, his expression affronted.

"Okay…now, before I say this, I admit I don't have all the information. But even so, I don't think I'm wrong," Allison cautions, her tone even and non-confrontational. "When my dad and I met with Derek and his pack, they all seemed pretty close. I didn't get the sense that anyone was using anyone else. You said that you think Derek was manipulating Stiles, but it seemed to me like he had the most level head out of anyone there. He wanted to be there. He was _happy_ to be, and I also got the sense that the others were happy to have him."

"Of course they were!" Scott cries, crossing his arms over his chest. "It screws me over!"

"I don't think you're really that high on their list of priorities, Scott," Allison says, amazed by his ego.

"But—"

"No, let me finish," Allison talks over him. "I don't think that what you think is true actually is. Has Derek done some questionable things in the past? Sure, but most of what he did was just a reaction to what others did to him anyway, which Stiles pointed out. And who here _hasn't_ done questionable things lately? Seriously, Scott, I think if you'd been there to see it for yourself, you would know that you're wrong about this. Derek may be the alpha, but it really felt like he gave the reigns to Stiles for quite a lot of that meeting."

Scott doesn't try to talk again yet, so Allison gives her final point. "I really think that if you just talk to Stiles," she says, "and this time without being confrontational about it, he'd be more open to mending things between you. I know what it's like to have opinions of someone that aren't favourable, but I'm telling you now, Derek and the others aren't the enemy."

"So who is?" Scott asks, looking off to the side.

"With my grandad out of the picture, no one is the enemy right now. Give them a chance."

Allison knows it will take time for Scott to mull this over and come to a decision. In the mean time there is nothing more she can do, so she returns to the original point of her visit.

"Anyway, I'd like to say I'm sorry," she apologises, causing Scott to meet her eyes again, his face no longer angry. "I'm sorry about a lot of things, as I said before, but mainly for the part I played in helping my grandad hurt all of you guys. I'd like to wipe the slate clean, if that's okay with you. Start fresh."

"What does that mean?"

"Well…maybe, if you're up for it, we could go out sometime. Try to put this all behind us and reconnect."

"Maybe," Scott says noncommittally.

"Alright then. I think I've said everything I came here to say." Allison gets up from the bed and walks toward the door. She rests her hand on the handle and looks at Scott one last time. "Text me if you wanna do something. And if not, I'll see you around."

Opening Scott's bedroom door, Allison walks out into the hallway and heads for the stairs without looking back.

* * *

_\- Sunday, May 1st, 2011 -_

In the evening, Stiles stands in front of the stove in the kitchen, stirring a pot of bolognese sauce with his right hand while he anxiously bites the nails of his left.

Tonight is the night Derek will be coming over to have dinner with him and his dad. He prays to anyone who is listening that it goes well, because basically his entire social life hinges on it. If it doesn't, he has no doubt that his dad will follow through on his threats to make him cut the pack out of his life. And then he'll be left with nothing.

Stiles stares down at the sauce and laments the fact that he doesn't know what to expect. There are a lot of variables that need to be accounted for, but Stiles can't possibly do that by himself. His dad is currently setting the dining table with cutlery and napkins, and Stiles is unable to guess all of the questions he will ask Derek. Some of them, sure, and he has his own responses prepared in order to take some of the heat off of Derek, but he knows he won't really be able to help much.

He can't anticipate Derek's reactions to all of the questions either. The alpha has improved a lot lately, is less angry and has been really making an effort to do better in his role as leader, but Stiles is sure Derek still has a temper in there somewhere. He wishes for it not to make an appearance, because then it'll be game over for both of them.

Before he is ready—would he ever be?—Stiles hears the doorbell ring, announcing Derek's arrival. He turns the heat under the saucepan to low, darts out of the kitchen to answer it before his dad can and is glad when he succeeds, finding the foyer empty. He wipes his palms on his thighs to rid them of nervous sweat and then, though he isn't sure why he does it, he checks his reflection in the mirror that is hung on the wall next to the coat hooks. He nods approvingly to himself as he looks over his forest-green T-shirt and black chinos, and then the doorbell rings a second time, waking him up to the fact that he has been standing there for far too long—and Derek probably knows it, too.

Hoping his face isn't too red, Stiles reaches for the handle, pulls open the door and immediately feels his lungs empty completely of air because of the sight with which he is greeted.

Derek stands on the doormat looking casual and yet still dressed up, like he put in an effort to look nicer for this dinner. He wears jeans that are dark and clean, paired with a soft-looking maroon henley that's tight over his muscular torso and has a low V-neck, showing off his collarbones and a generous portion of his chest. Stiles is for a moment distracted by the sight of the dark hair growing across the expanse of tanned skin. It's new and makes him realise that Derek must usually wax or shave it but hasn't bothered recently.

He finds himself intensely attracted to it.

The alpha's outfit is completed by a leather jacket as usual, but not the one Stiles is used to seeing Derek in. It isn't worn and scuffed up but looks brand-new, like maybe he bought it recently. Finally, Stiles moves his eyes up to Derek's face and finds the man staring back at him expressionlessly. In spite of this, there is a funny look in his hazel eyes that Stiles can't decipher, although he doesn't really have long to try before his manners kick in and he opens the door fully.

"Come in," he says, his voice embarrassingly breathy. He hopes Derek doesn't notice.

"Thanks." Derek enters the foyer and waits patiently for Stiles to shut the door. When that is done, he hangs his jacket up on the wall per the human's instructions and then the two loiter there, neither one seeming to know what to do next.

"Thanks for agreeing to this," Stiles says eventually, holding his arms awkwardly at his sides. He doesn't say anything else for fear of his dad overhearing him. He thinks it's odd that the sheriff hasn't made an appearance yet, because that's what he thought would happen as soon as Derek showed up and it doesn't take this long to set a table for three people. The possible reasons for his dad biding his time scare him, the most likely one being that his dad is actually _choosing_ to wait for the sole purpose of overhearing something he otherwise wouldn't. Not much gets past the man, so Stiles knows both he and Derek will have to be very careful with every word they say.

"Don't mention it," Derek responds tonelessly. "Really."

The pair stares at each other for a few more seconds before Stiles smells something burning. "Oh, crap, the food!" he yells, sprinting down the hall and into the kitchen.

He skids to a stop in front of the stove and takes the bolognese sauce off of the burner before it gets beyond saving. Luckily, it's just the bottom part that's burned, so Stiles breathes a sigh of relief and transfers his attention to the spaghetti that is simmering away in a second saucepan. Using a fork, he picks up a piece of it, blows on it, sticks it in his mouth to test it and smiles to himself when he discovers that it's done.

Stiles gets out three large plates from one of the cupboards and turns around to find Derek standing right behind him. The alpha's countenance is for a split second lost and worried, revealing how he truly feels about this dinner, but then, when he notices that Stiles can see him, he slips his mask back on, his face once more expressionless.

The teenager is caught off-guard by the sight of such vulnerability coming from Derek, because he doesn't remember really seeing any from him before. He supposes that Derek must be just as nervous as he is, which actually helps him feel better. If Derek is nervous, that means that tonight going well must be important to him as well, and he likely wants to make as good an impression as he can on Stiles' dad. Stiles' chest feels a bit warmer at the thought, but he wants to help the bearded man feel more at ease and supposes that giving Derek something to do other than stand there might work.

"You wanna help?" Stiles asks him.

Derek nods. "Sure."

"Awesome. Uh…how about you get a couple of glasses from that cupboard," Stiles suggests, pointing one of them out, "and help yourself to whatever you want to drink from the fridge. That okay?"

The alpha nods again, so Stiles leaves him to it and begins portioning out spaghetti between the three plates, one each for him, his dad and Derek. He heaps a little more on the latter's plate, knowing from experience that werewolves tend to have larger appetites than humans. Next, Stiles spoons a few dollops of the sauce on top of each serving of spaghetti, being careful to avoid scraping the bottom of the saucepan so that no one gets any burned bits. With the food dished out, he glances to his right to observe what Derek is doing.

The alpha is still partially hidden by the open fridge door, just the lower half of his body visible to Stiles as he peruses the beverages available to him. It doesn't take him much longer to come to a decision—just long enough for Stiles to sneak a quick peek of his pert ass—and then he emerges with an unopened 1-litre bottle of grape-flavoured sparkling water. Derek looks to Stiles as if making sure this is alright, so Stiles smiles reassuringly and just tells him to bring the whole thing.

"I'll have a beer, son!" comes the sheriff's voice, drifting through from the dining room.

Stiles takes this as confirmation that his dad was indeed eavesdropping and grits his teeth.

He can't put off facing the man any longer, as much as he would like to, so he picks up a couple of the plates of food and carries them toward the dining room. From behind him he hears the clinking of glasses and then the soft footfalls of Derek following behind him. He enters the dining room and finds his dad waiting just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his face impassive like Derek's. He wears his sheriff's uniform and his gun is holstered to his waist.

Stiles knows the man is attempting to achieve an air of intimidation. It would be effective were it aimed at him, but Derek takes it in stride, doesn't let even a hint of his earlier vulnerability show. He simply inclines his head in the sheriff's direction as he follows Stiles into the room and sets the empty glasses and the bottles of sparkling water and beer in the middle of the table. Stiles quickly retrieves the third plate and scurries back to the dining room so as to not leave Derek alone with his dad for too long.

When he has set it down in the third place setting his dad has prepared, it begins.

The sheriff uncrosses his arms and walks up to Derek. He doesn't say anything, just stares at the younger man as if sizing him up. Stiles flicks his eyes back and forth between the two, his hands curling white-knuckled around the top of the chair he stands behind as he waits on bated breath to see which one will make the first move.

It ends up being his dad.

"Derek," the sheriff says, proffering a hand.

The alpha takes it. "Sheriff Stilinski."

"I'm glad you could make it. My son tells me you're very important to him."

Stiles makes a choked sound of surprise, because he doesn't remember saying that. He may have been particularly ardent in his insistence that he couldn't cut Derek out of his life, but he didn't actually say those words. He considers why his dad would lie and concludes from the way the man doesn't look away from Derek's face for even a second that he must be trying to elicit a reaction. What reaction, though, Stiles can't guess, but his dad still gets one.

Derek's eyes widen infinitesimally and then he looks away and drops the sheriff's hand as if he has been burned. Wanting to save both of them from any further awkwardness, Stiles steps in before his dad can do anything else. "So, food's getting cold, guys. We should eat!" he says with a too-cheerful grin on his face.

"Let's," the sheriff agrees, moving to take the seat at the head of the table. He unstraps his gun holster and sets it down next to his plate.

"Dad, is that really necessary?" Stiles asks, taking his own place to his dad's right.

"That remains to be seen. Derek, please," the sheriff says, gesturing for the younger man to take the seat to his left, putting him and Stiles on opposite sides of the table.

Derek complies stiffly. Stiles gets the impression that the alpha is struggling to maintain his unflustered facade and feels his own stomach drop, his hopes that this dinner can go smoothly vanishing as if they had never existed. To prevent his hands from shaking, he concentrates on unscrewing the cap of the bottle of sparkling water and pouring the clear liquid into the two glasses that Derek brought through. Derek thanks him tersely as Stiles gives one of the drinks to him.

The sheriff watches all of this and then says, "Alright, everyone dig in."

Stiles thinks wryly that this is going to be a long night.


	9. Reaching an Understanding

_\- Sunday, May 1st, 2011 -_

John Stilinski is no fool. He never was, but with what he does for a job, he definitely isn't now. Being the sheriff can be tough for obvious reasons, but one thing that other people often don't realise is that it's difficult for him to shut off his brain at the end of a shift. It's usually always on, watching everyone and everything around him for clues. And it has only got worse recently, thanks to the sudden influx of strange cases that neither he nor any of his deputies can make heads or tails of.

It's not all bad, though. It comes in handy every now and then when he isn't working, and John knows that this dinner with his son and Derek Hale will be one of those times. He can read people easily and the impressions he gets are rarely wrong. As all three of them begin eating the dinner his son had prepared, he subtly observes both of the others, the way they interact with each other and everything they aren't saying. If it wouldn't blow his cover, he would laugh at how obvious they are being. Like they could fool anyone, least of all him.

After all, John Stilinski is no fool.

Initially, when Tara Graeme had told him what she saw, John hadn't known what to think. His son was spending time with a bunch of kids that, as far as John knew, he hadn't known very well—or at all—just a couple of months ago. He would've been able to explain it away, though, as his son just expanding his friendship circle. That would have made him happy because, as much as he likes Scott, Stiles just having one friend for most of his life had worried him a bit.

What John _couldn't_ explain away was the fact that Derek Hale, previously suspected mass-murderer, was with them, and Scott wasn't.

At first, he had feared that maybe Derek was involved in something illegal like drugs, and the younger man had sucked Stiles and the other teenagers into it somehow. But, in spite of all the recent lies and secrecy, John still trusted that his son was judicious enough not to get involved in something like that and threw this theory out.

It was their conversation in the kitchen from a week ago that gave John his second theory, the one he is willing to bet more and more money he doesn't have on being right. The almost heartbroken expression that had appeared on his son's face when he told him to stop seeing Derek spoke volumes, and then seeing the way Stiles and Derek had greeted each other in the foyer only seemed to confirm John's suspicions. Now, as he watches the two avoid eye contact with each other and pick at their food, a memory comes back to him from the night the station had received a call about an attack on the only gay club in Beacon Hills, Jungle.

Stiles being present was both surprising and yet not, since he had been present for a lot of the strange stuff that has recently occurred around town. At the time, what Stiles had first started to say about there being something he needed to tell John had been dismissed as a lie. But now John thinks that maybe it wasn't and his son had actually been trying, in his own way, to come out to him. It would tie into John's current theory about what is really going on between him and Derek.

His son has to know that he would never judge him or love him any less for being gay or bisexual or anything other than straight, but when he thinks about how he had shut Stiles down so harshly that night, he feels guilty. If his theory _is_ right and Stiles was about to come out to him, being dismissed before he could even get out the words can't have felt good and probably lowered his faith that his dad would be okay with it.

All of that only makes this dinner even more important. And complicated. While John would have no problem with Stiles being attracted to other guys, he doesn't know how he feels about one of those guys being Derek Hale.

What Hale was accused of turned out not to be the case, so John can't hold that against him, but he is still several years older than his sixteen-year-old son. A fully grown adult entering into a romantic relationship with a minor… John's instincts tell him to put a stop to it immediately. It's illegal, and he still doesn't think it's a coincidence that Stiles started getting into more trouble as soon as Derek came back to town in search of his missing sister. But there are parts of the story that just don't cohere.

As much as John loves him, why Stiles?

How do the other teenagers fit into all of this?

How did they even meet?

How are they involved in all the strangeness around town?

John wants answers to all of these questions—truthful answers—and he sees this dinner as the perfect opportunity to get them.

"So, Derek," he says, the first word spoken for a few minutes, "how did you and my son meet?"

Derek freezes with his fork raised halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide. He stares at John for a moment before regaining control of his body and feigning casualness. He stares a glance with Stiles that lasts half a second, but John still notices it and files it away to analyse later on. "Um, he was in the preserve around my old house and I didn't want him there, so I chased him and Scott off."

"And why did you do that?" John asks, aiming to gradually increase the pressure.

Derek stares down at his plate now and clenches his jaw. "I was burying Laura. It was a private moment."

John didn't expect so much honesty from their guest so early on or for that honesty to become so personal—and judging from his son's stunned countenance, neither did he. But the sheriff doesn't like being caught off-guard, so he doesn't show his surprise. "I see," he says. He allows his voice to adopt a sympathetic tone for a moment, because he can see how difficult it was for Derek to say what he said. "I'm sorry for that. That must have been hard."

"It's in the past now," Derek says tersely.

"Yes, I suppose it is," John concurs, not pushing this particular point. He ponders whether he should take this at face value or if this is Derek's way of trying to get him to go more easily on him. He returns to his previous demeanour. "Stiles tells me the two of you are friends now."

"I suppose."

"How did that come about if you didn't speak much that day?"

"We kept being thrown into life-or-death situations and only had each other to rely on. That tends to form a bond."

"About those life-or-death situations…"

"What about them?" Derek asks warily, looking up from his plate again.

"I can't help but wonder why you always seem to be in the middle of them, and why my son is often found there as well. Explain that to me."

Stiles butts in then, causing John's attention to temporarily switch to him. "Well, that's easy," he says, dropping his fork so that he can gesticulate wildly with both hands. His defence of Derek is vehement and his expression a bit manic, giving more credence to John's theory. "His uncle was responsible for the murders at the beginning of the year to get revenge on the people who killed his family. Derek was part of that family, felt responsible, and stepped in to try and stop his uncle. I knew that Derek was alone and wanted to help."

"Is this true?" John asks before Stiles can say any more, directing the question at Derek. "Did you feel responsible?"

Derek shoots a glare at Stiles before answering. "Yes, I did," he grits out.

"Why?"

Derek's face becomes consumed by guilt. John almost regrets inadvertently bringing the fire up, knowing how raw it all must still be, but he also now wants Derek to tell him what he feels guilty for. He'd thought he knew everything that resulted in one of the worst tragedies Beacon Hills has had in recent memory, but apparently he was mistaken and there was more to the story. And his son is aware of it, too, and never told him—another secret the boy was keeping. John stays silent even when Stiles puts a hand on Derek's forearm, causing him to relax slightly, at least enough to actually answer John's question.

"Because it was partially my fault that my uncle needed to get revenge in the first place," Derek says emotionlessly, like he is suppressing everything he is feeling.

"No it wasn't," Stiles refutes, frowning at him.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Stiles," Derek says, a touch of condescension in his voice.

"Yes, Derek. I do."

John observes as his son stares meaningfully at their dinner guest and Derek stares right back, suddenly looking several years younger. He wishes he knew what the hell Stiles meant, but he doesn't get the chance to demand he be told. In the next moment, Derek tears his gaze away from the teen's, shoves his chair violently back from the table and says that he can't do this right now. He strides from the dining room and heads in the direction of the foyer, with Stiles leaping up after him. John stays seated at the table and takes a sip of his beer.

* * *

"Derek, wait!" Stiles calls, just managing to reach out and grab the back of the werewolf's henley before he gets to the front door.

"Let go of me, Stiles," Derek grits out.

"No, not until you calm down."

Derek's eyes turn red, and Stiles would be scared if he wasn't sure that Derek would never hurt him. He also knows where this anger is coming from, that it's a defence mechanism that the man is using to cover up his pain. The latter emotion is probably easier to deal with, so Stiles releases Derek's T-shirt and transfers his hand to the alpha's wrist instead, his grip light. He isn't sure where he gets the courage for this, but seeing the man he has feelings for—however ill-advised those feelings may be—in such obvious emotional turmoil brings out all of his protective instincts and he wants to do whatever he can to comfort him. He just wishes Derek would let him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers. "I didn't think he would pick up on that part of what I said and ask you that."

Derek stays silent, but his eyes return to their human colour and he loses some of the tension in his body.

"If you really want to leave, I won't try to stop you again," Stiles says sadly, preparing himself because this seems like the most likely outcome. "But I would like it if you stayed. I can talk to my dad for you, if you want. I can tell him what happened…or I can get him to drop it and we can try this again. Whatever you want. You just have to tell me."

Derek appraises Stiles closely, and Stiles can see him battling with himself. Sooner than he expected, the werewolf gives in.

"You can tell him," Derek says, tugging himself free of Stiles' loose hold, "but I'm not going back in there. Not yet."

Stiles gets the impression that the man doesn't want to be around while he tells his dad about his past, which he completely understands. "Okay," he accepts, smiling at him in a way he hopes is reassuring. He steps off to the side and points to the staircase. "Why don't you, uh, go use the bathroom or something while I get this sorted out? I can come get you when it's done."

Derek nods tightly and ascends the stairs without another word, leaving Stiles to have a tough conversation with his dad. He doesn't mind, though. Anything he can do to take some of the pressure off of Derek, he'll do, especially since Derek only came to this dinner in the first place as a favour to him. Stiles takes a deep breath and walks back into the dining room, where he finds his dad still sitting in his spot at the head of the table, his beer half-drunk and his food no more eaten than it was when Stiles had left to pursue Derek.

"Did he leave?" his dad asks him, setting down his beer bottle.

"He was going to," Stiles replies, retaking his place in the seat to the right of the sheriff, "but I convinced him not to."

"Where is he then?"

"In the bathroom. He needed a minute."

"I see."

"In the meantime, though," Stiles continues, placing his hands on either side of his plate, "he agreed to let me tell you what was done to him back then."

The sheriff perks up noticeably, not trying to hide it. "I'm listening."

Stiles takes a sip of his sparkling water to bide some time. He glances at the ceiling and realises that Derek will still be able to hear everything that is said down in the dining room, but there is nothing he can do about that. He prays that, when he is finished filling in his dad, Derek won't have left after all.

"Alright…here goes," Stiles says.

* * *

John leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, letting his remaining food go cold with the other two barely touched plates. He is surprised that Stiles was able to convince Derek to stay after how worked up he had seemed when he stormed out of the dining room. Clearly there is more going on between Derek and his son than he had thought, a connection that runs deeper. From every interaction he has had with Derek since he returned to Beacon Hills at the beginning of the year, John is certain that very few people could convince him to change his mind about anything, and this is just another thing that fits into his theory that he and Stiles are more to each other than just friends. But there will be time to discuss that later on. For now, he files this new piece of evidence away with everything else and listens to his son when he begins speaking.

"Now, uh, bear in mind that I don't know the _whole_ story," Stiles says, tapping his right index finger on the table. "But I know enough to piece the rest together. It's not pretty."

John says nothing.

"So, Kate Argent set the fire. You already know that much, right?"

John nods.

"Well…what I think you _don't_ know is _how_ she went about doing that. I'm not sure why she had it out for the Hales," Stiles says, briefly averting his gaze from his dad's, "but she did. And so did her dad. Maybe their families had bad blood going way back or something. Whatever. That doesn't really matter. All the matters is that they did have it out for the Hales, and Kate used Derek as her way in."

"How?" John questions, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling when he hears a thump.

Stiles looks up as well and bits his bottom lip almost hard enough to bleed. "She seduced him."

John returns his focus to his son and frowns, his mind already running a mile a minute about what this could mean.

"I don't know how she went about doing it," Stiles carries on, "and I'm not going to ask and make Derek relive it either. But the truth is that she seduced him, made him fall in love with her, and then found out through him which night would be the best night to set the fire so that the most people would be home and would be caught in it. That's why Derek feels guilty for it, because he thinks that he has some fault in it all. _I_ don't think that," Stiles looks up at the ceiling again, his tone emphatic like he is speaking directly to Derek, "but he does."

"Well, that explains a few things," John says, working what Stiles has just told him into his understanding of the fire and the events of the past few months. He uncrosses his arms and takes another long sip of his beer, both happy that his son is being honest with him for once and disappointed that this secret was kept from him for so long. He understands _why_ Stiles kept it from him, but it still hurts. He also feels pity for Derek but doesn't plan on saying as much, thinking that the younger man wouldn't appreciate it.

"Do you know anything else?" he asks his son.

Stiles' face turns into a sneer. "Just that Kate taunted Derek with what she did when she came back here."

John nods again and is suitably sickened. If he hadn't already believed that Kate Argent was a contemptible woman, he would now. "Do you think he'd be up for rejoining us?"

Stiles shrugs. "Lemme go check."

* * *

Leaving the dining room again, Stiles takes the stairs two at a time and searches for Derek in the bathroom. The door is open so he peeks his head right in, but the room is devoid of all life. Confused, Stiles hopes that the werewolf hadn't left while he was speaking to his dad and peers down the hallway, his heart stuttering when he sees the door to his bedroom is also pushed open a crack, allowing a sliver of light to shine through.

Stiles hadn't left his bedroom light on, so he approaches and slowly enters the room to find Derek sitting on the end of his bed, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"Derek?" he calls, taking a cautious step toward him. "You alright?"

The alpha looks up, his face blank. "Yes."

Choosing not to call him on the lie, Stiles just accepts it and moves on. "D'you wanna come downstairs again or…?"

Derek takes a deep breath and then nods. "Sure."

"What were you doing in here anyway?" Stiles asks him, glancing around his room to check whether anything is different. He doesn't see anything amiss, which he didn't really think he would.

"Nothing. Are we going or what?"

Turning back to look at Derek again, Stiles watches his face for any changes and finds none, the werewolf doing a good job of keeping hidden whatever he is thinking. "Sure," he says, leading the way back out into the hallway.

When they reach the ground floor again, Stiles reenters the dining room first and widens his eyes pointedly at his dad, hoping to convey that he shouldn't say anything to Derek about what Stiles had told him. Thankfully, his dad understands and keeps his mouth shut when Derek trails in after his son and retakes his place opposite Stiles.

"Derek," John says, picking up his fork and urging the other two to continue eating as well, "you've told me how you and my son became friends. But what about the others? Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, and Isaac Lahey, right? That's an interesting group."

"I suppose it is," Derek accepts, shoving a forkful of cold spaghetti into his mouth.

"How did a twenty-four-year-old man come to be friends with a bunch of teenagers in high school?" John prompts doggedly.

Derek waits a moment before answering, and Stiles wonders whether he is gathering his courage. Soon enough, he raises his eyes to meet John's. "They were outcasts," he explains succinctly. "They had few or no friends of their own and they were lonely. I was lonely and a pariah in this town, so it just happened. Stiles first, then Erica, Boyd and Isaac, and then Lydia, Jackson and Danny."

Stiles isn't sure what to make of this. He looks at the side of Derek's face and tries to figure out whether the alpha is lying or whether he really feels that way. With everything Stiles knows about him, he gets the impression that it's the latter and is shaken by the honesty. Never did he think that Derek would be this open with anyone, least of all his dad. He feels his heart break a little bit. Every new thing he learns about Derek seems to have that effect on him.

John raises an eyebrow. "Danny…?"

"Mahealani," Stiles interpolates. "Jackson's best friend."

"I always thought that Mr. Whittemore and Miss Martin were very popular. They must have had many friends, so they don't really fit into the reasoning you've just given me."

Stiles panics for a moment, his free hand flailing in the air as he desperately chews the food he has just put in his mouth. His behaviour draws the attention of both men, who stare at him worriedly. Once he has finally swallowed, Stiles sucks in a great lungful of air. "They were popular," he elucidates, "but not really anymore. Lydia went through some stuff and basically the whole school thought she was crazy and wrote her off. You know how us teenagers can be. So she came into the pa— uh…our friendship group, Jackson came with her, and Danny came with him."

"So now you're just all friends with each other."

"Uh, yeah?" Stiles says unsurely, his voice going up at the end.

John purses his lips. "Hmm…I suppose I can accept that. As long as you don't get into any more trouble."

"I can try," Stiles offers.

"So, Derek, where are you living now?" Johns asks, looking back at their guest. "I appreciate everything you've told me so far, but if you're going to be _friends_ with my son, I need to know a bit more about you."

Stiles frowns at the emphasis his dad put on the word 'friends'. He gets the impression that there is some meaning behind that and doesn't hear whatever Derek answers with because he is thinking too deeply about it. What could his dad have meant? Is it possible that his dad is aware of his feelings for Derek? Does his dad believe there is something more going on between the two of them? It's possible. He's keeping many secrets from his dad now, and while the sheriff hasn't been able to guess the supernatural ones, his dad isn't stupid and could have come to that conclusion instead. He looks between the two men and stays quiet. Fuck.

"—let me know," John says, his face much more friendly now. Stiles regrets tuning out because he doesn't know what happened to cause this change.

"Thank you, sheriff," Derek responds, some of the tension in his body fading away.

Shit, Stiles thinks. What did he miss?

* * *

The rest of the dinner is relaxed and easy. All of the answers Derek and Stiles gave the sheriff were apparently enough to appease him, and he dropped his 'tough sheriff' façade soon after the exchange Stiles missed. They eat dessert and then Stiles' dad sends him into the kitchen to wash up while Derek prepares to leave. The sheriff helps him bring the dishes to the sink but then disappears. Stiles is sure his dad is talking to Derek alone, but he can only speculate why.

He washes the dishes faster than he has ever washed anything. He puts the plates, bowls and cutlery in the drying rack without care, dries his hands with a dishtowel and races down the hallway to the foyer, where he finds his dad with a hand on Derek's shoulder.

"Remember what I said," the sheriff murmurs.

All Derek does is nod, looking like a deer in headlights.

Stiles' dad turns around then and spots Stiles behind him. He smiles funnily at him, claps him on the shoulder as well and then goes upstairs.

"What did he say to you?" Stiles asks Derek worriedly.

"U-uh, it…it was nothing," the alpha says evasively, averting his eyes.

This behaviour strikes Stiles as odd. He has never witnessed Derek acting so flustered before. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"Okay," Stiles acquiesces.

The two of them stand there awkwardly for a minute, neither one seeming to know what to say next. Part of Stiles wants to hug the man, but that wouldn't be advisable, especially not after how rigid Derek had gone the last time he tried that in the train station. In the end, he settles for simply thanking Derek for coming to dinner and apologising for him having to do it in the first place.

"Don't worry about it," Derek says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "I should get going."

"Sure."

Stiles doesn't really want him to leave, but he can't say anything without sounding weird. He opens the front door for Derek and stares up at him when the alpha pauses on the threshold, his expression inscrutable. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he shuts it again and just nods at Stiles before exiting the house.

Stiles watches him go and doesn't stop until the alpha is in his Camaro and driving away. Only then does he close and lock the front door. It could've gone worse.


	10. Initiating Phase Three

_\- Monday, May 2nd, 2011 -_

The morning after dinner with Derek and his dad, Stiles walks downstairs dressed in a pair of blue chinos, a plain black T-shirt and his red hoodie. He enters the kitchen and has just started gathering together the ingredients for waffles when he hears movement upstairs, a sure sign that his dad will be joining him very soon. Knowing that waffles are the sheriff's favourite breakfast food, when he measures out all the ingredients, Stiles doubles the amounts so that when he mixes it all into a batter, there will be enough for two people.

Like he'd thought, just as he closes their old circular waffle iron on the first waffle, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs and his dad joins him in the kitchen.

"Hey, son," the man says groggily, heading straight for the coffee maker.

"Morning, dad."

"Those waffles I smell?"

"Yup!" Stiles grins. "And yes, I'm making enough for you, too."

The sheriff eyes him suspiciously. "What's the occasion?"

Blinking innocently, Stiles turns away from the man and pretends to inspect the waffle iron. "I dunno what you're talking about."

"You'd normally hound me to eat something healthier."

"Maybe I just thought you deserved a treat," he says jokingly, still avoiding eye contact.

"That's generous of you, considering that I'm the parent here."

"I thought so."

Stiles' dad drops the subject there and pours himself a mug of the coffee that has just finished brewing. He doesn't leave the room, though. He sticks around and eyes his son over the rim of his plain white mug, watching as he clumsily gets out the first waffle with his fingers and drops it unceremoniously onto a plate before it can burn him.

"So, do you have any plans after school today?" the sheriff asks.

"Yeah, actually," Stiles replies, hoping to leave it there. He isn't so lucky.

"Do these plans involve Derek?"

Hesitantly, Stiles nods. Last night may have gone well, but he is still cautious and doesn't want to do anything that could cause his dad to rescind his acceptance.

The sheriff purses his lips and doesn't say anything else about Stiles' plans while they eat on either side of the kitchen island, but Stiles can still sense that there is something else coming. He can tell it isn't bad per se, but nevertheless he braces himself for whatever it is while he washes up the dishes and his dad finishes his coffee. When he has, Stiles accepts his mug and washes that up as well, and when he is drying his hands, his dad finally speaks again.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" the sheriff asks, his face open and understanding.

Stiles is now sure that the suspicion he'd had last night is true. His dad is at least aware of his feelings for Derek and probably believes they are something more than friends.

He wishes.

Stiles knows he should disabuse his dad of the belief that he and Derek are together, but he also knows there is no way he would be able to do it smoothly and he'd probably stumble into confessing something else. He almost opens up, the words, "I'm bi!" on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them at the last second and chokes out, "I know," instead. He turns away from his dad and berates himself for his cowardice. It shouldn't be so fucking hard to speak those two stupid words, but for some reason, it is. Something holds him back.

"Alright, son," his dad says, putting a hand on his shoulder like he'd done the night before. "I'm gonna go get ready for work. Don't be late for school."

"I won't," Stiles says quietly, listening to his dad's fading footsteps.

Maybe he'll try again tomorrow.

* * *

Scott doesn't know what to think anymore. After his conversation with Allison over the weekend, as much as he hadn't wanted to, he had to admit that maybe she had a point. The way he had gone about trying to get to the bottom of why Stiles is suddenly being all buddy-buddy with Derek and his betas wasn't the best. He still can't get rid of the belief that Derek isn't a good guy, but that belief isn't quite as strong as it used to be. Allison was right to remind him that Derek saved him from being murdered by her mother, even when he didn't have to, and Scott owes him for that.

Grudgingly.

With what Allison had said about Derek's pack being glad to have Stiles in it, Scott spends most of the school day watching his best friend interact with the other betas as surreptitiously as he can. They all still share a lot of classes, so it's not hard. What _is_ hard, though, is having to witness Stiles laughing and getting along well with people Scott doesn't like.

In every class, and during lunch and in the halls in between it all, Stiles is with at least one of Derek's betas or with Lydia and Danny. Scott can't quite comprehend that all of the people he and Stiles had previously thought of as arrogant and mean are now being so nice to Stiles—and Stiles is being so nice to them. It makes Scott feel childishly jealous because Stiles was his friend first. It just doesn't make sense to him, or maybe he just won't allow it to make sense because of his stubbornness.

Either way, by the final bell, Scott is irritated and just wants to forget about all of them for the rest of the day. Luckily for him, he has a shift working at the veterinary clinic, which should be the perfect distraction. He hops on his bike and gets one last glimpse of Stiles hugging Erica, Issac and Boyd next to his blue Jeep before he speeds out of the parking lot. He drives quickly, probably a bit recklessly, but he doesn't care.

By the time Scott reaches the clinic, his irritation has lessened and he is able to act perfectly calm as he locks up his bike and enters the building through the back door.

"Hello, Scott," Alan Deaton greets him once he reaches the examination room.

"Hey," Scott replies.

On top of the tall examination table in the middle of the space is a miniature Dachshund, which lies in place and watches Scott curiously. He walks over to pet it and smiles when it pushes into his hand and its tail starts wagging, both signs of happiness that help to make him feel better.

"Be careful with her," Deaton cautions, not looking away from where he is sorting through something in one of the cupboards. "Her owner brought her in because she was having some problems with her back, and I found that she has IVDD—Intervertebral Disc Disease. She needs surgery to fix it, the poor thing."

"That sucks," Scott comments, sticking to petting the dog's head.

"It's sadly a common problem with this breed."

"At least she seems happy enough right now."

"That's because she's not trying to walk around. Then it would be a different story." Deaton sighs, shuts the cupboards and switches his attention to a stack of papers on the countertop. "D'you think you can get her in one of the cages? Her surgery's not scheduled until tomorrow and we have another appointment coming in soon. I need to get the place ready."

"Yeah, sure."

As carefully as he can, Scott scoops up the dog and carries it through to the kennels. Several of the larger cages are already occupied by other animals, but there are plenty of smaller ones free. Scott selects one that is usually used for house cats, but with the diminutive size of the Dachshund, he supposes it will be a perfect fit. When he opens the cage with one hand and crouches down to put the dog inside, she sniffs around curiously and Scott sees what his boss had meant. The way she walks isn't right. It's a waddle more than anything, and it's obvious that just making a couple of circuits around the small cage was enough to wear her out when she all but collapses in the cat bed that's already there in one corner.

"It's alright, girl," Scott comforts, reaching inside to pet her one last time before shutting the cage.

Back out in the examination room, Deaton is once again searching through the cupboards for something, so Scott leans against the table and waits until he is given further instructions. It doesn't take long, and then his boss is giving him various items and telling him to arrange them in a certain order along the left side of the examination table.

"So, how are things with Stiles and the others?" Deaton asks, double-checking that Scott has everything right. "I haven't seen any of them around for a while now."

Huffing, Scott shakes his head. "You'll have to ask them," he responds, his earlier annoyance creeping back in.

"You don't know?"

"No."

Deaton frowns and stares at Scott concernedly. "Why not? Stiles has basically been a regular fixture around here ever since you got this job."

"We're not exactly speaking right now. It doesn't matter," Scott lies, hoping his boss will just drop it. He doesn't want to get into it now anyway, and like Deaton said, he is there to do a job and learn, not gossip about his fractured relationship with his best friend.

"It seems like it matters to you."

"Well it doesn't. Stiles chose his side. End of story."

Deaton is silent for a moment, and then he says, "I take it you mean that Mr. Stilinski has become a part of Derek Hale's pack?"

"Something like that…"

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Look, I appreciate the concern—I really do—but, last time I checked, you're not my therapist, so…can we stop talking about this now?" Scott requests, keeping his tone as even as he can because he doesn't want to offend Deaton, who has done a lot for him, all things considered.

"We can," Deaton accepts, much to Scott's relief. But his relief is short-lived, because the vet doesn't quite let it go yet. "But I have a vested interest in things in this town staying as peaceful as possible. I haven't done a very good job of ensuring that happens in the past, but I'd like to make up for that, and you being on the outs with the resident alpha and without a pack of your own could be a threat to the peace we've only just gotten back thanks to the incapacitation of Gerard Argent."

"What're you talking about?" Scott asks, warily getting sucked into the conversation.

"You know that a beta without a pack is an omega, and without those pack bonds, they will gradually lose control of themselves."

Scott resists rolling his eyes. "That won't happen to me," he states confidently.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Scott," Deaton persists. "All betas need a pack."

"Well if you have another option, I'm all ears."

"You know Derek is the only option."

"Then no."

"Scott—"

"Look, I don't wanna be rude, but I really don't want to hear it," Scott interrupts. "Allison's already tried to convince me that Derek's not bad, so you can stop."

Deaton looks contemplative. "Hmm…well, Miss Argent has more sense than I thought she did."

Feeling defensive on behalf of his sort-of girlfriend, Scott narrows his eyes at the vet. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean no offence, Scott," Deaton placates. "I just meant that, with how deep Gerard got into her head, I didn't expect her to see past her prejudices to the truth this soon."

Scott sighs. "So you agree with her."

"I do."

"Why?"

Deaton's countenance becomes sad. As much as Scott hadn't wanted to keep talking about it, the expression breaks through his annoyance and has him listening closely when Deaton starts to explain himself in more depth. The vet doesn't show much emotion, remaining for the most part in his cool, calm and collected demeanour, but there is an earnestness and a measure of shame in his eyes that lets Scott know that he means everything he says.

"I already said I didn't do a very good job of ensuring that Beacon Hills remained in a state of peace in the past," Deaton reiterates, crossing his arms over his chest. "Part of that was right after the Hale fire. I used to work quite closely with Talia Hale, Derek's mother, but I was younger then, more naïve, and I didn't see what was happening with the Argents until it was already too late to stop it. In the aftermath, I was too stunned to offer any help to Derek, Laura or Peter, and I didn't try to stop Laura when she took her younger brother and fled to start a new life in New York City. I didn't expect to see them again, but then the murders started and Laura returned. I was ashamed of how I'd failed her before, so even though I wanted to make up for it, I couldn't make myself offer her much help. And so she was also killed, Derek came searching for her, and the cycle repeated itself."

"What does all of that have to do with now?" Scott enquires, curious despite himself. Hearing it all laid out so plainly, he can't prevent a seed of pity for Derek from sprouting inside of him. He tries to smother it, to cling to his previous conceptions, but it's no use; the seed has been planted.

"All I mean is that you shouldn't judge Derek so harshly," Deaton answers. "If I'd had the guts to help him when he came looking for his sister, or if I'd helped Laura when she came back, or if I'd helped both of them right after the fire happened, things could've turned out very differently for all involved. All the people who died this year likely wouldn't have died, and Laura, Derek and even Peter wouldn't have felt like they had to do what they did. That's something I have to live with, and I'm telling you this so you can better understand Derek's side of things."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Scott says.

"I sincerely hope so."

"Can we just get back to working now?"

Deaton appraises him closely, like he is making sure his words really got through to him. As much as he hates it, Scott has to admit that they did, so his boss nods.

"Sure." The vet smiles kindly, walking across the room until he reaches the door to the waiting room.

Scott hears him call for a woman to bring her pet through, but he isn't really paying attention, not even when Deaton introduces him to the woman and he shakes her hand. Most of his focus is taken up by thoughts of Derek, his pack, and Stiles most of all. What Deaton has just told him seems to tie in well with what Allison had said in his bedroom, and it's finally enough for him to start to let go of his rigid beliefs about Derek and his betas.

It reframes some things, more than Scott is comfortable with.

He thinks back to what Derek had thrown in his face when he confronted him in the train station, about Scott not noticing that Stiles was hurt that night in the warehouse. Derek was right—he _hadn't_ noticed. Hell, he'd been so entrenched in his anger when he dragged Stiles into the janitor's closet at school that he barely noticed the bruise on his cheek even then, when it was just the two of them in a small space. Plus, Allison was right about the way he tried talking to Stiles being misguided. He was infuriated that his best friend was suddenly friendly with Erica, Isaac and Boyd and he started the conversation already heated. Of course Stiles reacted badly.

Then there was the way Derek's betas had interrupted him and Stiles in the janitor's closet. Scott had thought up until now that it was just because they wanted to make sure that Stiles didn't cave in and ruin their plan to steal his best friend from him. Looking back on the way the other betas had acted, and the way _he_ had acted, while also keeping in mind everything Allison and Deaton have told him, Scott concedes that he was wrong. Erica, Isaac and Boyd were mad, but they were also protective of Stiles. They hadn't stepped in to make sure their revenge plan stayed on course, but to get their new friend away from an unpleasant situation.

Scott still doesn't trust Derek and his betas, but he supposes it isn't his job or right to police who else Stiles befriends. Stiles _had_ looked genuinely happy throughout the day, happier than Scott remembers seeing him in too long. Plus, thinking Stiles would be so easily manipulated is an insult to his intelligence. The human boy has always been the smarter of the two of them, after all.

As he stays off to the side and observes Deaton examining the hind leg of the German Shepherd currently on the examination table, Scott realises that he has a lot to thinking and soul searching to do.

He isn't looking forward to it.

* * *

Stiles is the last to arrive at the betas' next training session in the train station that evening. The first person he sees is Derek, who is waiting right at the bottom of the steps with a judgmental eyebrow raised. He sports his standard training gear, jeans and a tank top, but Stiles purposefully blocks that out and holds up his usual bag of food, which he had prepared at home immediately after leaving school that afternoon.

"You can't rush perfection, Sourwolf," he excuses with a wink, feigning confidence.

He walks around Derek and joins Lydia, Danny and—unfortunately—Peter off to the side of the station, from where they will watch the proceedings. Lydia has her notepad out again, and when Stiles looks around the rest of the station he spots the same objects Derek had been using to test the betas' control over their newly enhanced strength before Danny cut their last session short. The alpha evidently plans on finishing that interrupted session, so Stiles takes a seat next to Danny on the floor and observes as Derek reminds his betas of what the purpose of all of this is. As he gets himself comfortable, he doesn't miss the pointed look that Peter shares with Danny. It freaks him out a little, but he just shakes his head and blocks the beta out.

As he watches Isaac begin to work his way through the progressively heavier objects on the floor, Stiles' mind goes back to the weekend. He still feels unsure after the odd way the dinner had ended. He wishes he knew what his dad had said to Derek in the foyer, but asking either of them wouldn't result in him getting a conclusive answer, so he doesn't bother.

"What's in the bag?" Danny asks him out of nowhere, eyeing it curiously.

"Just some food for afterward," Stiles answers. He glances sideways and is surprised when he finds that Danny is sitting much closer than he'd thought.

"What food?"

"Enchiladas."

"Sounds good to me. Did you make them?"

Stiles looks away from Danny again and returns his gaze to Isaac as he aims one of the middle-weight objects at a target on the wall. "Yeah," he says to the boy next to him, "it's like my role in this pack or whatever. I make snacks and do the research."

"Well…I look forward to it."

Nothing else is said between the two of them until Isaac and Jackson have both completed their turns. Lydia gives her notebook to Derek so that he can check over all the scores and times she had meticulously written down, while Stiles and everyone else moves into the middle of the room so that they can all eat together. He is bemused when Danny immediately chooses to sit next to him again, but he doesn't question it. Perhaps the Hawaiian boy is simply staying close to him because they are the only humans currently in the little circle the pack has formed. Yeah, that must be it.

"God, I've been looking forward to this since you got here, Stiles," Erica says, licking her lips as he begins unpacking his bag and hands out the enchiladas.

"He's that good a cook, huh?" Danny enquires.

"He's awesome. If I wasn't already with Boyd, I'd snap him up just for his cooking."

Stiles feels his face heat up. "Erica…"

"What? I would!"

"I thought you didn't have a crush on me anymore."

"Oh, I don't. I got over that while back. But the food might just be worth it."

Shaking his head, Stiles gives one of the last Tupperware containers to Danny, leaving him with just three. Lydia soon joins the group, taking hers, and then Derek, done looking over Lydia's notes, completes the circle and takes his. Stiles is glad not to have to sit next to him this time because, after the dinner over the weekend, it would only be even more awkward.

For around half an hour, the pack eats and talks amongst themselves, some of them splitting off into smaller groups. Stiles ends up talking mostly to Danny, whose attention has stayed focused on him for some reason. It disturbs Stiles a little bit, but he has always liked Danny well enough and so he takes it in stride and doesn't point out how weird it is.

When it comes time for everyone to go back to their homes, Stiles gathers all of his things, sticks them back in his bag and is about to bid everyone goodbye when Derek drags him suddenly off to the side. Stiles is startled and flails his limbs wildly, accidentally smacking the alpha in the face with his bag. He expects to be growled at or at the very least to be given a sharp glare, but Derek just rubs his jaw with the hand he doesn't have wrapped around one of Stiles' wrists and keeps dragging him until they are stood a fair distance away from everyone else.

"We need to talk," Derek says, finally releasing him.

"A-about?" Stiles stammers, nervous from the unexpected one-on-one time.

"If you're going to keep making food for my betas for every training session, then something needs to change."

"Like?"

Derek extracts his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, unfolds it and pulls out a bank card, which he proffers to Stiles. Stiles just stares uncomprehendingly.

"Take it," Derek says, his jaw clenching.

Not cottoning on, Stiles does, but he doesn't lower his arm when Derek releases the other end of the card. "Why are you giving me this?"

"Making food for that many people that often has to be expensive, and it doesn't feel right asking you or your dad to foot the bill for that. I'm the alpha and they're my betas you're feeding, so I should be paying for it," Derek explains. He shuffles his feet, a sign that he is feeling nervous as well, but then he seems to realise what he is doing and forces himself to stop.

"Oh." Stiles gapes.

"Don't get too excited," Derek warns. "There's only so much money in that account and you can't go over. It's to pay for ingredients only."

Stiles blinks. "I wouldn't spend your money like that," he defends.

The alpha regards him for a moment and then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I know. I trust you."

"You do?"

"Yes. I'm not repeating myself. Just use that to buy what you need for the food."

Derek walks away before Stiles can think of anything else to say, which saves him from trying. He stares reverently down at the bank card until he senses another presence near him, at which point he puts it in his own wallet and turns to find out who is there.

It's Danny. He scratches at the back of his head. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"This might sound strange, but…" The lacrosse goalie trails off, dropping his hand. "Do you wanna go out sometime?"

Taken completely off-guard, Stiles feels himself gaping ridiculously and doesn't manage to close his mouth for some time. When he does, he swallows tightly. "You want to go on a date? With _me_?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You've never shown interest before," Stiles observes, Erica's words from earlier filling his head.

"I didn't think you were serious back then," Danny says with a shrug, referring back to when Stiles used to ask him whether or not he was attractive to gay guys.

"And you do now?" Stiles frowns, thinking back to when he'd first realised he was bisexual and had the paranoid fear that everyone around him could see there was something different about him. It was a ridiculous fear at the time and it still kind of is now, because he thinks he has done a reasonable job of hiding it from the masses. But Danny isn't the masses, and perhaps his gaydar is just that good.

"Yup. I do," Danny confirms with a smile. "So what do you say?"

Unable to help himself, Stiles looks over Danny's shoulder and locates Derek leaning against the train car. Everything about him looks tense, Stiles suspects because of the small amount of vulnerability he had just displayed to him while giving him the bank card. When that is combined with the weekend, he has probably reached his limit.

Stiles keeps looking at him while he mulls over Danny's proposition. Nothing will ever happen between him and Derek, Stiles is sure. The alpha is way out of his league and has never given him any reason to suspect that he might even swing that way, least of all swing that way for someone like _him_. Danny is out of his league, too, but the other boy is actually showing interest. It isn't right to use Danny as a way of getting over Derek, but Stiles is tired of pining after someone who would never feel the same way about him, and who knows? Maybe this could actually lead to something. Whatever happens, there is only one way for Stiles to find out.

So he says yes.

"Awesome," Danny grins. "I'll meet you outside school tomorrow morning and we can work out the details, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Stiles agrees.

Danny says goodbye to him and then follows Lydia and Jackson out of the station. Stiles takes a breath and tells himself that this could be a good thing if he gives it a chance to be. He still doesn't feel one hundred percent good about it, but the decision has been made and he isn't going to let himself back out of it. He flicks his eyes over to where Derek had been standing and finds the spot empty now. There is no sign of the alpha anywhere in the main part of station, so he must have gone further inside.

Stiles pushes down his disappointment and leaves as well.


	11. Coming Out

_\- Tuesday, May 3rd, 2011 -_

When Stiles arrives at school, he finds Danny waiting outside like he said he would. Stiles gets out of his Jeep, throws his backpack over one shoulder and walks toward the other boy, making a concerted effort to block out everyone else that is milling about the edge of the parking lot. They probably wouldn't have a problem with it, but Stiles hasn't exactly announced his bisexuality to anyone yet, and he doesn't want to notice any curious stares he might get when he talks to Danny.

"Hey, you made it," said boy grins when Stiles gets close.

He is dressed in a pair of dark-blue jeans and a V-neck T-shirt that is yellow up by the shoulders but transitions into dark-orange at the hem. Both articles of clothing are tight, so tight that Stiles' eyes are drawn to Danny's chest and biceps. Like with Peter when the beta had visited him in his bedroom to invite him to one of the pack's training sessions, Stiles can't help but compare Danny's muscles to Derek's. They're very nice to look at, but Stiles still finds them wanting, purely because they _aren't_ Derek's. Before he can get caught up on the alpha again, though, Stiles shoves him out of his head, walks the last few steps between him and Danny and immediately trips on nothing. He is only saved from hitting the ground because of Danny's fast reflexes.

"Whoa! You alright?" the Hawaiian boy asks him, his eyes concerned.

Stiles laughs off his embarrassment. "Uh, yeah, you know me. Just being my usual clumsy self."

Danny smiles at him. "Alright."

"So…how d'you wanna do this? I've never really gone on a date before," Stiles admits. He is slightly humiliated, but he also knows that Danny won't judge him for it.

"C'mon, I need to get some stuff out of my locker. We can talk on the way," Danny replies, linking his right arm through Stiles' left and dragging him up the front steps to the school's main entrance. Stiles falls into step with him, very much aware of how this will look to most people. Sure enough, once they are inside and navigating the halls, he forgets all about his previous efforts to not pay attention to others and can feel some of them staring.

"Do you have any ideas of things you'd like to do?" Danny asks him, pulling his attention away from his nosy peers.

"Uhh, not really," Stiles answers, surprisingly finding that he enjoys being this close to Danny. He thinks the other boy smells nice, like sandalwood. "I guess we could do the whole 'dinner and a movie' thing, but that just seems super cliché."

"I think we should do something fun."

"Like?"

"Well…how does bowling sound? It's low pressure, and we'd be in a lively environment so it wouldn't be too intimate."

Stiles mulls over the suggestion for a few seconds and concedes that it's a much better one that his. He agrees that doing an activity together—a competitive one—would make him feel more comfortable than jumping straight into the real 'getting to know each other' part of dating. "Yeah, that sounds pretty good," he agrees, just as they reach Danny's locker.

Danny grins again. "Great!" He releases Stiles' arm but doesn't input his combination yet, his attention remaining solely on Stiles. "Do you want me to pick you up from your place or d'you just wanna meet at the alley?"

"I'm not sure…"

If Danny picks him up, then Stiles will have to explain to his dad where he is going. On the one hand, it could be just the thing that forces him to come out to the man, which would be a load off of his shoulders. But on the other, there would likely be the whole 'meet the parents' thing, and to Stiles that doesn't sound like a good time at all. If he and Danny meet at the alley, he could avoid all of that, but he would still be stuck in the closet. Not that it's a terrible place to be, but he is already tired of hiding. It's this last thought that helps him decide.

Stiles looks back at Danny and finds him waiting patiently, still smiling. "You'd be okay with picking me up?" he asks, just to make sure.

"Yeah, I don't mind."

"That, then."

Danny's smile widens a bit as he nods his acceptance. "Tonight, at around 7?"

"Sure. I don't have any other plans."

The Hawaiian opens his mouth to say something else, but the bells rings before he can. "Well, I'll see you later, I guess."

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to it," Stiles says.

It isn't a lie.

* * *

Derek is sitting brooding in his train car, a book lying open but unread in his lap. He was trying to read earlier, but it was pointless because he couldn't focus on the words, his mind already preoccupied with other things. Or one thing in particular: Stiles, and what he and Danny will be doing later that evening. He has never felt so jealous before, not even when he was younger and he'd first seen the car his parents had bought Laura for her eighteenth birthday.

As much as he doesn't like to think it, the thought that it should be _him_ taking Stiles out on dates refuses to leave him. He isn't even the romantic type, or at least he has never thought of himself as such. Especially after Kate.

And that's just the problem, isn't it? If Kate hadn't destroyed him all those years ago—if she, an adult, hadn't sunk her claws into Derek's teenage self—maybe things would be different now. Maybe Derek would have had the courage to go after Stiles as soon as he realised how he felt about him, but he is afraid. He doesn't want the past to repeat itself, doesn't want to hurt Stiles like Kate hurt him. Sure, he wouldn't be actively trying to hurt Stiles like Kate had actively hurt him, but the fear is there nevertheless, irrational but ever-present.

Derek has half a mind to storm over to the Stilinski house right then and there and claim Stiles as his. Hell, he already has the sheriff's permission to date his son, and what a shock it had been to receive it. When Stiles' dad had spoken to him as he was getting ready to leave after the dinner, he was so sure he was about to be told to stay away from Stiles. But no, the sheriff said that, while he didn't exactly approve, as long as Stiles was happy, he wouldn't intervene.

So yeah, Derek wants to ask Stiles to be with _him_ , not Danny, but he doesn't.

No, what's best for Stiles is if Derek leaves him alone and lets him pursue a relationship with someone who will actually be able to love him back like he deserves.

Just as Derek has told himself he should stop thinking about it, Peter shows up sporting his usual cocky smirk. There is a knowing edge to it this time, though. Derek finds it disquieting because he is aware of exactly why it's there. He glares at him, but it's of course not enough to get his uncle to go away.

"What?!" he snaps, tossing his book aside and getting to his feet so that they're on an even playing field and he isn't looking up at the older man.

"Oh, nothing, nephew," Peter answers, leaning casually against a pole. "I'm just wondering what's got you looking so glum, even by your standards."

"None of your business."

"It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain sheriff's son and the newest member of our pack who'll be taking him out very soon now, would it?"

Derek stays stubbornly silent.

"I'll take that as a yes," Peter says. "You have no one to blame but yourself, y'know."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Peter raises an eyebrow at him, looking deeply amused. "If you'd made your move earlier, you could've snapped the object of your affections up before dear Danny got there first. Obviously."

"I don't have 'affections' for Stiles," Derek sneers, turning away. It's pointless to deny it, he knows, but admitting it isn't an option.

"Alright, live in denial…"

Peter sighs as if it pains him, but even without looking at his uncle anymore, Derek knows it's all an act. Sure enough, after a few tense seconds of waiting for the other shoe to drop, he hears Peter chuckling quietly to himself.

"They're going to the bowling alley at seven…just in case you were interested," the beta says. Derek can just picture his sly expression.

"That doesn't interest me at all," he lies, keeping up appearances. He looks at Peter askance. "How do you even know where they're going?"

"I have my ways."

Peter smirks again and walks away, but he doesn't go too far. Derek can sense that his uncle hasn't left the premises entirely, is waiting around up above ground, probably to see what he will do. He huffs and sits back down on his ratty old mattress, but he doesn't pick his book up again. Instead he stares at the front cover without really seeing it, his mind elsewhere. He replays Peter's parting words over and over again, because they really do interest him, in spite of the decision he had come to before the galling beta had intruded on his privacy. He closes his eyes and tries to get Stiles out of his head, but he can't.

He recalls the dinner at the Stilinskis', how Stiles had comforted him as best he could without overstepping Derek's boundaries, which, even though he didn't thank him for it, he had appreciated.

He recalls the conversation they had all had with Allison and Chris Argent, right outside the train car in which Derek currently sits, how Stiles had stood up for him with such understanding and insight into things Derek hadn't thought he knew anything about. Stiles has more perspicacity than Derek had given him credit for back then, and he so clearly has everyone's best interests at heart—even Derek, who doesn't believe he deserves it.

Before he can think about what he is doing, Derek stands up and exits the train car. He leaves the station, ignores Peter's smug face and gets in his car. He tells himself he is only going to the bowling alley to make sure that Danny will treat Stiles right, because Stiles deserves that. He isn't fooling anyone.

* * *

At 6 o'clock that evening, Stiles stands in front of his closet in just his underwear. His dad will be home soon, and he knows he needs to hurry up and get dressed if he wants to have that talk with him. There's only one problem: he can't decide what he should wear on his date with Danny. He regrets making fun of all the girls and women he has seen in movies and TV shows who spend hours trying to find something to wear when they're going out. He empathises with them now. He didn't think he would ever seriously go through this struggle himself, but his life has taken a lot of strange twists and turns over the past few months, so what's one more?

Tossing aside a T-shirt with Captain America's shield printed on the front, Stiles is close to giving up when an idea hits him. Quickly putting on a pair of sweatpants and another T-shirt, this one plain black, Stiles grabs his phone from his nightstand and sends off a text to Lydia, begging her for her expertise. He spends a few agonising minutes waiting for her to respond, but when she does he exhales deeply with relief:

_Be there in ten. You owe me._

Eight minutes later, the doorbell rings and Stiles rushes downstairs to let Lydia in. Once they are back in his bedroom, she looks over everything he has thrown carelessly on his unmade bed, sighs long-sufferingly, dumps her handbag next to it all and then begins rifling through everything that is left in Stiles' closet. For his part, Stiles perches on his bed and tries not to be offended when Lydia snorts derisively at most of what she finds.

"So, who's the date with?" she asks him with a curious glance.

"Oh, uh…it's with Danny," Stiles replies, biting her lip as he anticipates her reaction.

It's a lot less extreme that he'd thought it would be. She freezes for a split second, and then all she says is, "Ah, I see."

Stiles frowns. "Is that it?"

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. "Should I say something else?"

"No, I guess not," Stiles murmurs, looking away.

"If you thought I'd be surprised you'd be interested in going out with another guy, then I have to tell you that you're not exactly subtle, Stiles," Lydia continues anyway, pulling a red T-shirt out of the closet which doesn't immediately meet with scorn. "I've known you're not entirely straight for ages now."

Stiles sputters indignantly but then realises he has nothing to really feel indignant about and makes himself stop. "Yeah, well…whatever."

"So where are you and Danny going?"

"He's taking me bowling."

Lydia passes Stiles the red T-shirt and then begins her search for something to go on his bottom half. "That sounds alright, I guess," she says after a while.

"Not your ideal first date, then?"

"Well, it's not me going on this date, so it doesn't matter, does it?"

"I guess not."

When there is very little left in Stiles' closet, Lydia happens upon a pair of jeans that Stiles doesn't recognise right away. When the redhead holds them up to assess them properly and Stiles gets a proper look at them too, he realises that they are years old, barely worn and likely much too small for him now. Of course, that means that they are the pair Lydia chooses.

"Lyds, I don't think I can even fit in these anymore!" he whines.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Just go in the bathroom, try them on and let me see, Stiles. And no more complaining. I'm doing you a favour here, remember?"

Pouting, Stiles obeys his orders. In the bathroom now, he puts on the red T-shirt first and then perches on the closed toilet lid to wiggle the jeans up his legs. They are loose enough around his calves, but just like he'd thought, they are incredibly tight around his thighs, ass and waist, so much so that he can only just get the button through the placket. Standing up to look at himself in the mirror, Stiles thinks that if he takes too deep a breath, he'll end up popping the button or maybe even bursting the seams.

Great.

"Seriously, you expect me to wear these?" he says as he walks back into his bedroom.

Lydia looks up from her phone. "Do a 360. Let me see."

Feeling more uncomfortable by the second, Stiles still does as he is told. He hears Lydia make a contemplative sound when his back is to her and spins around the rest of the way much swifter to get it over and done with. "Well?" he asks her.

"They'll do."

"But they're way too tight!"

"That's the whole point. They make your ass look great."

Stiles' cheeks turn as red as his T-shirt. "T-they do?" he stammers.

"Yup. Danny'll love them. Now, come here so I can do something about your hair."

Deciding that he can probably put up with the jeans for a couple of hours, Stiles sits again on his bed and lets Lydia run her fingers through his hair, which has grown out quite a bit recently. Part of him wants to buzz it short again because it's just easier that way, but then Lydia speaks and he shuts that part of himself up.

"Y'know, if you're gonna grow your hair out, you need to get it cut and styled properly," the redhead comments. "It'd look a lot better."

"You think?"

"I know. This is already much better than it was—no offence—but if you went to a hairdresser or something and let them work their magic, I bet you'd be quite the looker. You'd have probably been dating before now, even."

Stiles, not knowing what to say, says nothing.

"Okay…I think I can make this work," Lydia mumbles, reaching for her handbag. From it she pulls out a pot of some sort of hair wax—whatever that is—and gets a small blob of it on her palm. After rubbing her hands together to smear it around, she tells Stiles to stay still and then runs her fingers through his hair again, this time with more purpose. Stiles looks off to the side, because otherwise he'd be staring right at Lydia's breasts in front of his face, which would've been like a dream come true just a couple of months ago. Now it just feels wrong.

Minutes later, Lydia ruffles the front of Stiles' hair one last time and steps back to assess her handiwork. "Okay, I think you're all set," she smiles.

"Really?" Stiles reaches up to feel his hair, but his hand is slapped away. "Hey!"

"No ruining my masterpiece!"

Pouting again, Stiles looks at his reflection in the mirror on the back of his closet door and nods approvingly when he sees what Lydia has done to him. The front of his hair is coifed up and slightly to the side, and the sides and back look ruffled in a way that is artful but doesn't say that he is trying too hard. "You do good work," he compliments.

"Of course I do."

After putting on clean black socks, Stiles escorts Lydia back downstairs and sees her out, thanking her effusively when they are at the front door.

"I would say 'no problem', but…" Lydia teases, accepting Stiles' hug. "Let me know how it goes!" she yells over her shoulder as she walks to her car, which is parked on the street right in front of the house. "I want all the sordid details!"

Shaking his head, Stiles waves at her disappearing car and closes the door again. A glance at the clock on the living room wall reveals to him that his dad should be home any minute now, so Stiles sits down on the sofa to wait. He is restless, his leg bouncing up and down as the ticking of the second hand seems to taunt him. His nerves almost get the better of him, nearly making him decide to put off the talk with his dad even longer, but he forces himself to stay where he is. "You're ready," he tells himself. "You've faced down crazed alpha werewolves, murderous, rapist, geriatric hunters, and a kanima…this is nothing. You've got this."

"Stiles? You okay, son?"

Startling, Stiles leaps up from the sofa and spins around to see his dad standing in the entrance to the living room, looking concerned. Stiles must have been so caught up in his own head that he didn't hear the man get home. He thanks his lucky stars that he was talking to himself too quietly for his dad to make out the words. "Uhh, yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure? 'Cause you look kinda green around the gills."

Swiping his fingers through his hair—and then cursing himself because Lydia told him not to do that—Stiles gestures to the sofa. "Actually, can we talk about something?" he asks, his voice shaking slightly. He hopes for all of two seconds that his dad didn't notice, but it's evident from the way the concern on the sheriff's face gets more prominent that he did.

"Sounds serious."

"It is. I guess. Maybe. I dunno."

The sheriff sits down on one end of the sofa, his body turned at an angle toward his son at the other end. "Do this have something to do with why you look dressed up?"

"Partly."

"Okay. I'm listening," the sheriff says, his countenance losing its concern and becoming open instead.

"Uhh…" Stiles fumbles for how to start. He has agonised over this moment many times since he first came to the revelation about his sexuality, but now that the moment is actually here, every idea seems to have vanished from his head. In the end, after taking a deep breath, Stiles intends to gently ease into things, but instead what he blurts out is short and sweet and instantly makes him feel betrayed by his own tongue. "I'm bi."

His dad just nods understandingly. Stiles had expected more and is underwhelmed in an odd way. "Umm, yeah…that's it. I'm bi."

With a kind smile, Stiles' dad shuffles across the sofa so that he is sitting on the middle cushion instead of at the opposite end. Stiles doesn't know why, but then he is caught up in a tight hug and he just sinks into it, a weight he didn't even know he was carrying lifting from his shoulders. He knew his dad would react well, wouldn't have a problem with it, but apparently there was a small part of him that was afraid, the part of him that had held the confession back up until this point.

"You know that nothing can change how much I love you, right?" the sheriff whispers in Stiles' ear, one hand rubbing up and down his back. "I'm glad you told me."

The two Stilinskis sit there for a while, Stiles taking great comfort from the embrace and his dad not ending it until he is ready. Eventually, he is, and he sits back and wipes subtly at his stinging eyes. His dad pats his back and gives him time to pull himself together, but when he has, he gets a glint in his eye that can only mean bad things.

"So…are you going to tell me why you're all dressed up this evening?" he asks, the serious atmosphere fading.

"I have a date," Stiles confesses. "That's why I told you tonight. You'd find out anyway."

The sheriff looks vindicated, but only for a second and then the expression is gone as if it was never even there. "Anyone I know?" he asks.

"Maybe. It's—"

Before Stiles can say, the doorbell rings, and he looks at the clock again to find that it's exactly 7 p.m. "Actually, that's probably him. We're going bowling."

Stiles stands up and walks into the foyer to answer the door, but his dad is faster than him and reaches it first. Stiles steps off to the side and prays that his dad doesn't make this too awkward.

"Oh! Hi, Mr. Stilinski," Danny greets, getting over his shock fast.

The sheriff doesn't respond right away. He glances sideways at his son, apparently confused by who he has found on his doorstep, but then his expression clears and he plasters on something pleasant while holding out his hand for Danny to shake. "Danny, right?" he says, beckoning him inside.

"Yup—"

" _Actually_ , dad, I think we're just gonna leave right away," Stiles interrupts, pushing lightly at Danny's chest to get him to step back outside. He says a quick and flustered goodbye to his dad and shuts the door behind him before the man can say anything else. He keeps his hand on the handle just in case his dad tries to open it again, but when that doesn't happen for a few seconds, he releases both his tension and the handle.

"You alright?" Danny asks him, bemused but still smiling.

"Oh, yeah, I just wanted skip the whole introduction thing, y'know," Stiles replies evasively, only just taking in how Danny is dressed.

The Hawaiian boy is a bit more put together than Stiles, in a long-sleeved purple button-up and a pair of black jeans, but Stiles doesn't let it get to him. "You look nice," he says instead.

"Thanks," Danny chuckles. "You do, too. You ready to go?"

"Definitely. Let's do this."


	12. Going on a Date

_\- Tuesday, May 3rd, 2011 -_

Danny and Stiles arrive at the bowling alley twenty minutes after leaving the Stilinski residence to find it surprisingly busy, especially for a Tuesday night. There are still a couple of lanes free, though, so after Danny pays for three games—"I'm the one who asked you out."—and getting their shoes, they walk to the rightmost lane, enter their names into the scoreboard and begin.

Stiles has a lot of fun, even though he gets several gutter balls and doesn't come close to striking or picking up a spare even once. It's very quickly evident that Danny is much better at it than him when the Hawaiian boy gets a couple of strikes in his first few frames, but Stiles doesn't mind, not even when the first game ends and Danny has a score that's almost double his.

"Think you can do better this time?" Danny teases him as the scoreboard is wiped clean for their second game.

Stiles gives him a facetious glare before smiling. "Probably not."

Danny chuckles. "C'mon, I'll give you some pointers."

"Huh?"

Stiles' questioning sound goes unanswered. Instead, Danny picks up one of the bowling balls, grabs Stiles' hand with his free one and drags him to stand in front of the lane. He gives the ball to Stiles, who takes it warily, and then positions himself behind him, so close that Stiles can feel his breath disturbing the short hairs on the back of his head.

"Put your fingers in the holes," Danny instructs when Stiles doesn't move for a while. "And that's not a euphemism."

"Oh my God…" Stiles groans, blushing furiously.

He follows Danny's instruction and then, his eyes wide the entire time, lets the other boy adjust his stance into something that is apparently better than what he had been doing for the entirety of the first game. Danny makes a loop around him, double-checking that everything is as it should be. Apparently satisfied, he guides Stiles through his preferred way of bowling, once again standing directly behind him, his chest pressed against Stiles' back. It's difficult for the latter to concentrate with Danny so close, but he manages to move his arm back and swing it forward the way Danny wants him to, slowly at first but increasing the speed the next couple of times.

"And then you just release the ball," Danny finishes, his words quiet and right near Stiles' ear.

Stiles shivers and gets goosebumps all over. He is glad when Danny steps away from him so that he can actually concentrate.

"Give it a go," the Hawaiian says, watching intently with an encouraging expression.

Stiles takes a breath and then does everything Danny had taught him. It's not perfect by any means, but when the ball goes rolling down the lane it doesn't immediately veer off to the side. It actually knocks down six of the pins in total, which is more than Stiles has hit with a single turn before.

"I did it!" he cheers, spinning on his heel. He sees Danny holding up his palms and slaps them in a double high-five. "I guess you're a good teacher."

"You guess, huh?" Danny grins.

"Alright, fine…you _are_ a good teacher."

Danny bows dramatically. "Thank you, thank you."

"Don't go getting a big head now."

Danny snorts. "Yeah, whatever. Just take your second shot and give me a run for my money."

Stiles points at the other boy and narrows his eyes. "I'm gonna make you cry."

"Whatever you say."

* * *

When Derek enters the bowling alley, he sticks to the edge of the huge, colourful room and looks over the many lanes that run along its length, searching for Stiles and Danny. He doesn't spot them right away, not until he walks over to the other half of the place to get a better look at the people in those lanes. He walks right past the front counter, ignoring the boy behind it when he tries to talk to him, and doesn't stop until the last lane is no longer obstructed and he sees Danny sitting in one of the seats near the scoreboard controls. He takes a couple more steps, just enough for him to have a view of Stiles as well. He watches as the boy stands in front of the lane with a red bowling ball in his hands, preparing himself to roll it toward the pins at the other end.

"Sir? Excuse me, sir?" comes an annoying voice, tearing Derek's attention away from Stiles.

He turns around and stares stonily at the boy who was behind the front counter and has apparently chased after him. "What?"

"Sir, you can't go any further without paying for a game," the boy says nervously, his short red curls bouncing on top of his head. The name tag on his shirt reads Remy. The pale skin of his face is covered in freckles and he is a few inches shorter than Derek, a fact that Derek would have used to intimidate him into submission were the circumstances different. As it is, he doesn't want to cause a scene and risk drawing the attention of Stiles or Danny, so he is grudgingly forced to play along.

"Fine. Is there a lane free?" he bites out.

"Uhh…yeah, a couple."

"I'll take one then."

"Is it just you?"

"Yes!" Derek snaps, fed up already.

The boy scurries off to hide behind the counter again. Derek trails after him more sedately, listening to the sounds of celebration that Stiles is making, presumably after taking a good shot. Once he reaches the counter, he makes an effort to stop scowling so severely, knowing that Remy is just doing his job and doesn't deserve to be the recipient of such hostility. It's not the poor kid's fault that Stiles is here having fun with someone else.

A couple of minutes later, Derek has paid for two games and wrinkles his nose as he slips into his awful-smelling bowling shoes. Whatever spray they use isn't enough to get rid of the foul odour of at least one of the people who used this pair before him, but he powers through it and steps up to the scoreboard in his lane. He sticks out like a sore thumb from the people in the lanes around him, because each of them is taken up by two people at the least—five or six in most cases.

But Derek isn't concerned about that. He only has eyes for one lane in particular, from which he is three lanes down. Hopefully that is enough distance to keep his presence unknown to both Stiles and Danny. Neither of them have the heightened senses of a werewolf, so it should be. Especially if Derek is careful, which he plans on being.

The alpha starts to bowl perfunctorily, not paying attention at all to what happens to the bowling balls after he lets go of them. He could be scoring nothing at all for all he cares. No, the only thing that matters to him is observing Stiles out of the corner of his eye, making sure to have someone from the lanes between them obstructing Stiles' view of him if the teenager ever happens to glance in his direction. Once he has this system in place, Derek does what he came to do and spies.

* * *

"Wow, you actually came close that time," Danny congratulates when he and Stiles conclude their second game. "I'm impressed."

Stiles rolls his eyes and fights off a smile. "Don't patronise me."

"Hey, I'm serious!" Danny laughs, punching the skinnier boy lightly on his upper arm. "Maybe in our last game you can actually beat me."

"Even if by some miracle that happens, you'll still have me beat two to one."

"Well, there's always next time."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Next time, huh?"

"Yeah…if you want there to be, obviously." Danny looks away briefly, suddenly bashful. "No pressure."

Stiles' expression softens as he takes in the endearing sight. He had been looking forward this date since Danny suggested it the previous day, and he is still enjoying himself a lot because Danny is just fun to hang out with in general, making it obvious why he is well-liked by pretty much everyone who meets him. It's nice to bounce off of someone so easily, another guy in particular, something Stiles hasn't really had since he and Scott fell out with each other, but he isn't yet one hundred percent sure whether or not he wants to go on a second date with Danny.

There is _something_ between them, as evidenced by Stiles' reaction when the muscular boy was helping him improve his bowling technique, but he doesn't know whether it's really romantic. He can't think that far into the future, can't envision himself letting go of Derek anytime soon to put his all into his and Danny's potential relationship and commit like Danny deserves. So he puts it out of his mind, deciding that he's getting too far ahead of himself. The date hasn't ended yet, so there's still time.

"Maybe," Stiles says noncommittally, unable to give more.

If Danny senses his ambivalence, he doesn't mention it. Instead, when the scoreboard is wiped clean again for their third and final game, he steps graciously aside so that Stiles can start them off.

"Good luck," Danny says, completely genuine.

* * *

Derek is becoming frustrated.

Due to the cacophony of noise around him from pins being knocked down, talking from his fellow excitable bowlers and the few arcade machines that are in a different part of the alley, he is unable to hear much of what Stiles and Danny are saying to each other. He should be able to concentrate better than this, block out everything else to hear the words he actually wants to hear, but for some reason he just can't. Maybe he's too tired to multitask competently, or maybe the part of him that is nervous that Stiles' date is going well is messing with his capabilities. Whatever the reason, Derek is annoyed and growls to himself, making sure to keep the sound quiet so that no one in the lanes either side of him will be able to hear him.

Because of all of the noise, Derek is forced to rely on what his eyes tell him—and they tell him a lot.

Stiles' back is to him more often than not, but as Derek continues to bowl without care in the second game of the two he was made to pay for, he still frequently glimpses Danny's face. The near constant smiles he sees don't bode well. Or do they? He doesn't know what he wants the outcome of this evening to be anymore, whether he wants Stiles to be happy with Danny or if he wants the date to end disastrously so that he can swoop in and take Stiles for himself.

Derek has never been very adept at sorting through and putting names to his emotions, which, before Kate, Laura used to tease him about nonstop. And then, after Kate, his sister had tried to get him to stop suppressing his emotions altogether, to little success. All of that is why it took him so long to realise and then accept that he felt something romantic for Stiles in the first place.

If Derek is honest with himself, he hasn't really accepted it yet. Not fully. Having feelings for someone so much younger than him, who for the most part seems so untouched by the dark parts of life, isn't easy for Derek to come to terms with.

"You okay, sir?"

The voice right next to Derek shocks him out of his reverie. He looks around and realises he must have been standing in front of his lane with his hand poised to bowl for some time, drawing more than one speculative and worried gaze. Luckily, none of those gazes belong to Danny or Stiles, both boys still off in their own little world.

Derek turns to the person who brought him out of his thoughts and offers them a tight smile. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" the middle-aged man asks.

"I'm sure," Derek confirms. "Just go back to your game."

"Alright."

Once he is alone again, Derek berates himself for losing focus and bowls.

* * *

Stiles sits at the scoreboard and waits for Danny to take the last turn of their final game. He looks up at their scores and holds his breath because he is actually winning with 123 points to Danny's 122. It's his highest score all night, but it's also Danny's lowest by a considerable margin, leading him to wonder whether the other boy is going easy on him this last round. Either way, Danny needs to knock over just two more pins to steal the victory from him, and there are still five left standing at the opposite end of the lane, so it should be easy.

"Are you gonna go or what?" Stiles asks when Danny continues to stand there.

The Hawaiian looks back over his shoulder. "Gimme me sec! I'm thinking," he laughs, turning back to the pins.

"What's there to think about?"

Danny ignores him, takes a deep breath and bowls for the last time. Stiles watches intently as the black ball sails down the lane, but it isn't a straight shot. The ball rolls at a slight angle and just barely misses hitting any pins, meaning that Danny has lost. Stiles leaps up from his seat with both fists thrust in the air, excited to have won, but then Danny walks toward him with a defeated but good-natured expression that doesn't seem altogether real.

"You threw the game on purpose, didn't you?" Stiles questions, lowering his arms.

"Of course not," Danny denies, slinging his own arm around Stiles' shoulders and leading him away from the lane. "You'll never be able to prove anything."

Stiles harrumphs. "Whatever. I won't let you taint my obvious triumph," he says, his nose in the air.

"You're such a goofball."

"Yup, and I regret nothing."

"Good. I kinda like it. It's funny," Danny compliments.

Dropping the act, Stiles allows a smile to creep onto his face. "What now?"

"Now we eat," Danny announces, steering him toward the area of the alley that looks like a tiny diner, with a bar lined with stools and a few small booths with padded red vinyl seats.

His stomach growling, Stiles eagerly gets in line behind another pair of teenagers apparently out on a date and eyes the surprisingly extensive menu that hangs behind the register. It's split up into three sections, one each for drinks, main courses and desserts. The bowling alley offers a lot of different refreshments, most of it the typical fare he would expect to see in such an establishment—hot dogs, nachos, cheeseburgers, curly fries, milkshakes, a variety of fizzy drinks, ice cream, warm brownies, sweet pretzels…the list goes on and on, so filled with delicious things that Stiles is almost made dizzy.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" Danny asks, removing his arm from Stiles' shoulders so that he can pull his wallet out of the back of his jeans. "My treat."

"Uhh…I don't know. There's a lot to choose from," Stiles replies.

"I'm thinking a cheeseburger and a chocolate shake, if that helps. We can get dessert after."

Stiles bites his bottom lip, peruses the menu one last time and makes up his mind. "I'll have the same. And maybe some curly fries, if that's okay."

Danny smiles at him again. "Of course, your famous love of curly fries. I should've guessed."

Stiles ducks his head. "It's famous?" he asks quietly.

"Your voice can carry sometimes," Danny explains, stepping forward when the line to order gets one customer shorter. "I've heard you raving about them to Scott a couple times over the years."

Stiles huffs. "Oh, right."

Nothing else is said until they are at the front of the line, at which point Danny gives their orders and hands over the money. They are given a number and then sent off to find seats while they wait for their food to be cooked. Danny leads Stiles to the outskirts of the refreshments area, where there is a single booth that has just been vacated. A bowling alley employee is in the process of cleaning the table and clearing it of the rubbish the previous diners had left behind, so Danny and Stiles stand patiently off to the side to wait until she is done.

"All yours, boys," the woman soon says, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear before walking off to put the rubbish in the bin.

Stiles and Danny sit down on opposite sides of the booth, which is wide enough for four people. Stiles' seat creaks beneath him but he pays the noise no mind and is swiftly swept up in a conversation Danny starts in order to discover any interests they share. They are both so engrossed than neither one hears their number being called the first couple of times, but when they do, Danny tells Stiles to stay where he is and leaps up. He races over to collect their food from the disgruntled-looking employee who is on the other side of the section of the bar designated specifically for that purpose.

"Looks good," Stiles observes when Danny returns and sets the black plastic tray down in the middle of the table. He reaches for his milkshake and takes a sip through the straw.

"Tastes good, too," Danny responds around a mouthful of cheeseburger.

Stiles doesn't take the other boy's word for it and tucks into his own. He nods his agreement when his tastebuds are assaulted by the cheese slice, ketchup and succulent beef, the last of which is thick and cooked to perfection. They continue their previous conversation sporadically, offering short sentences between bites until they have both devoured their cheeseburgers. Next come the curly fries, most of which Danny graciously allows Stiles to have. He makes a gagging sound when Stiles dips one into his milkshake.

"That's pretty gross," Danny says, watching his companion like he is crazy.

"Have you ever tried it?" Stiles counters, waving the milkshake-coated fry around in the air.

"No."

"Then don't knock it, buddy!"

Danny chuckles. "Alright, fine…"

With some obvious trepidation, Danny follows Stiles' lead. He dips a fry in the remnants of his own milkshake and holds it up to his mouth. "If this makes me throw up, I'm gonna kill you."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Just try it! It's good."

Fighting a smile, Danny takes a bite and chews it with a wary look on his face. Stiles waits for the verdict and finds himself grinning when Danny's wariness morphs into surprise and approval. "See? I told you so."

The other boy swallows and grumbles, "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

* * *

Later that evening, after finishing their food and deciding to end the date there after the sheriff had texted Stiles to remind him that he has school the following morning, Stiles gets out of Danny's car on the street outside his house and walks with him to the front door. There is a slightly uncomfortable tension hanging in the cool night air as it whips around Stiles' face.

The reason for it is clear.

He'd had a great time overall, had definitely enjoyed Danny's company, but not in the way he had hoped to. It was more like getting to know a new friend rather than a love interest. As physically attractive as Danny is, there is a spark lacking between them, some sense of passion that Stiles has basically always felt around Derek, even when they used to yell at each other all the time. Perhaps it's unrealistic to expect a new spark to be engendered by a single date, but Stiles is nevertheless disappointed and, when they reach the front door and he turns to Danny, he doesn't see any romance between them in his future.

"So, here we are," Danny says, shifting to face Stiles as well.

"Yeah…"

"Tonight was a lot of fun."

"Yeah, it was," Stiles agrees.

"We should do it again sometime," Danny suggests. "If you want."

Stiles nods absentmindedly, searching for the words to let the other boy down but failing to find them.

After a few moments of prolonged silence, Danny takes a step forward, getting close enough for his breath to fan across Stiles' face. It smells of chocolate. Before Stiles is aware of what is happening, lips are on his and his whole body goes rigid. His eyes remaining open, it isn't until there comes a burst of light as another car drives sedately past the house that his mind comes back online. He doesn't immediately push Danny away, but he doesn't reciprocate the kiss either, which is thankfully enough for the Hawaiian to catch on.

"Sorry," Danny apologises, looking down as he backs up again.

"Danny…"

"We're not going on a second date are we?"

The question sounds slightly sad, exacerbating the guilt Stiles feels. "I really did enjoy hanging out with you and I'd like to do it again, but…maybe just as friends," he explains gently.

"It's alright; I understand," Danny accepts, his sadness evaporating faster than Stiles thought it would. Perhaps he is just hiding it. "You're still hung up on Derek."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Stiles starts to stutter out a rebuttal when Danny holds up his palm.

"Hey, I get it," he says, smiling softly. "I'm not upset. I don't really know him, but I have eyes, and if you have feelings for him then he must also be a good guy under all the glowering. You don't have to explain."

"Am I that obvious?" Stiles asks quietly, his face hot.

"Maybe I just have a keen eye for these things," Danny jokes. "Don't worry; I won't tell."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem, but maybe you should just go for it."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you should tell Derek how you feel."

Stiles laughs a little hysterically. "Yeah, that's totally gonna happen."

"Seriously, what've you got to lose?"

"The last scraps of my dignity, for one."

Danny sighs. "Well, it's your choice. But let the record show I think you're making the wrong one. Even if it ends badly, at least you'd know for sure."

Stiles doesn't respond, which Danny takes as his cue to leave.

"Anyway…I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Stiles." He pecks him on the cheek and then walks down the front path to his car.

Stiles watches him go and doesn't move until the other boy waves at him through the driver's window. He waves back, and only when Danny's car is out of sight does he open the front door and step inside his house. After closing it behind him, Stiles lingers in the foyer for a short time. He wonders fleetingly if he made the right decision, if he should have given him and Danny a second chance, seen if that spark appeared if they went on another date. But no, it wouldn't be right. When you know, you know. Deep down, Stiles is sure it wouldn't have happened, and it wouldn't be fair to string Danny along.

Slowly he ascends the stairs and trudges toward his bedroom, suddenly tired. On his way, the door to his dad's room opens and the man peeks out dressed in blue pyjama bottoms and an old grey T-shirt, the nightclothes he has preferred to wear as long as Stiles can remember.

"How'd it go?" he asks his son.

"Pretty good," Stiles answers. "We decided to just stay friends, though."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Something about the sheriff's tone makes Stiles suspicious that he isn't actually all that sorry, but he doesn't examine it too closely. It's probably just his tiredness making him imagine things. "Yeah, well…I'm gonna head to bed," he says, pointing unnecessarily to his bedroom.

"Okay." The sheriff kisses his son's forehead. "Sleep well."

"You, too."

When his dad's door is closed again, Stiles completes his journey to his room and manages to get himself out of his too-tight jeans before he all but collapses on top of his bedspread. He wiggles beneath the sheets and closes his eyes, replaying the night behind his eyelids. It _was_ good, and Stiles is glad to be able to actually call Danny a friend now, but something about it has left him feeling…empty, like something was missing.

Or someone.

His last thought before he drifts off is to wish it had been Derek on the date with him instead.

* * *

After continuing to spy on an unsuspecting Stiles and Danny while they ate and talked more, Derek leaves the bowling alley right after the two teenagers. He rushes over to his black Camaro at the edge of the parking lot, gets in and tails Danny's vehicle all the way to Stiles' house, being careful to always keep a few other vehicles between them. Despite his care, Danny must take a different route to their shared destination because Derek loses sight of the human's car halfway through the journey. He curses himself and speeds the rest of the way to the Stilinskis', only slowing down to a more reasonable speed when he reaches Stiles' street.

Driving once past the Stilinskis' house eases Derek's worries of having missed them. He has managed to beat them there, so he drives on and then loops back on himself, hoping all the while that he won't end up arousing the suspicion of a neighbour looking out onto the road. His behaviour would probably look suspect to them, but when he starts down the street a third time and finally sees Danny's car, he ceases to give a damn.

Reducing his speed to a crawl, Derek peers out of his window in hopes of seeing something—and he does.

Danny kissing Stiles.

Derek is too far away to make out much, but it's obvious that that is what is going on. It isn't a quick thing either. In the few seconds it takes Derek to pass by, the kiss doesn't end and he is left with a tight feeling in his chest when he has to look away to avoid getting into an accident. It's like someone has grabbed his heart and is squeezing it with all their might.

This is what he'd set out from the train station to make sure of, he reminds himself. Stiles is obviously happy dating Danny. That's that.

Derek shoves down the part of himself that was having second thoughts at the bowling alley and keeps driving, once again suppressing his emotions. He is a pro at it, but even so, as he idles at a red light, he can't quite get rid of the new rawness of his heart. It feels like something has been taken from him without him realising it, and he can't get it back.


	13. Repairing a Friendship

_\- Tuesday, May 3rd, 2011 -_

Around two hours after Derek left the train station to eavesdrop on Stiles' date with Danny, Peter lies in wait for the younger man's return.

He is incredibly curious about how things went when his nephew reached the bowling alley and wants to hear the details firsthand, whatever they may be. He isn't sure how he wants things to have gone. On the one hand, it would be nice if Derek finally got his nerve and went after Stiles like he has so obviously wanted to do for weeks now. But on the other, Peter does kind of want this fun little game of his to continue for just a while longer.

Getting Stiles and Derek to spend more time together produced no results, but Peter wasn't really expecting it to. Lydia, the girl Stiles had had a very vocal crush on for years, had a lot of potential to tap into Derek's jealousy and make him claim Stiles as his, but that didn't work either. Danny is Phase Three, where things really get interesting. Perhaps Lydia didn't work because Derek wasn't aware that Stiles swung his way. The possibility of him _not_ being aware was low, but then again, Derek has never been the most perceptive when it comes to matters of the heart, so Peter wouldn't put it past him. Danny was the perfect solution to all of that, and he was happy to play ball in return for Peter telling him what Jackson and Lydia had been hiding from him for months.

Peter thinks the potential final phase of his plan is inspired. He can imagine it now, how Derek will react when Peter tells him what has happened to Stiles, how he'll race to the human's rescue in a dazzling display of heroism that will have Stiles falling into his arms.

Oh, it will be so good.

At just after 9 p.m., Derek finally returns, the familiar rumble of his beloved black Camaro getting closer. Peter sits alert when the engine shuts off and then, when he hears Derek coming down the steps into the station, he gets up and exits the train car to meet his nephew sooner, nearly vibrating with anticipation. He doesn't have to wait much longer to figure that the final phase of his plan will be necessary, because Derek's expression couldn't be any more dejected. But, before Peter sets it in motion, he needs details.

"So, how'd it go?" he asks Derek, pretending to be totally in the dark about the outcome.

"How do you think?!" Derek snaps. He attempts to storm right past his uncle, but Peter grabs his arm.

"Now, come on, I'm going to need more than that."

The alpha glares at him and clenches his jaw, but he doesn't shrug off Peter's grip like he very easily could. "Stiles and Danny ended things very cosily. They're both happy. That's the end of it," he answers, obviously making a concerted effort to keep his expression blank. "I'm not going to intrude on that any more than I already have. I never should've gone in the first place."

Derek's mask begins to crack, at which point he does rip himself free of Peter's hold. He turns away from the beta, but not in time to hide the emotion that he can't seem to keep from his face any longer. Peter just glimpses anguish and a little self-loathing before Derek walks away into the train car, most likely to settle down for the night. And that won't do.

It won't do at all.

Peter hasn't gone to all this trouble to get his oblivious nephew and the equally oblivious Stiles together, only to accept defeat before they even reach the last hurdle. No, what he said to Derek after coming back from the dead still stands. He wants to atone for his past mistakes, and in his mind this is one way of doing that. Plus, while they haven't always got along, he _does_ care for his nephew, and not just because they are both the only family the other has left.

It's why Peter didn't try to kill the younger werewolf when he was on his murderous rampage. He still killed Laura, of course, so Peter doubts he would be believed if he were to tell Derek all of this, but he wasn't thinking clearly back then. All he knew was that there was an alpha in the preserve that night and he needed their power to accomplish his goal of retribution against Kate and her lackeys. He only realised that the alpha was his niece after the deed was done.

Needing more answers, Peter leaves Derek to wallow for the night and exits the station.

* * *

When he arrives at Danny's house, Peter doesn't bother with the front door and takes advantage of the fact that Danny's bedroom window faces out onto a small ledge, a piece of knowledge he gained when he scouted the building the first time he visited it. The lights are off but that doesn't matter to a werewolf like him. He peers through the small gap in the curtains, locates the lump in the bed to the right and narrows his eyes because he doesn't have time for this.

There are two other heartbeats in the house, most likely belonging to Danny's parents, so when Peter knocks on the window he does it loudly enough to wake Danny but quietly enough to keep his parents unaware of their late-night visitor. It takes a couple of repetitions for the lump in the bed to move, and several more for Danny to peek his face out of his pale-yellow bedsheets and look blearily around his room in search of the source of the disturbance. When his eyes alight on the window and he finally sees Peter waiting there for him, he throws back his sheets, revealing to Peter that he was sleeping in just a pair of tight black boxer-briefs, and walks cautiously to the window.

"Open up," Peter says impatiently.

Still cautious, Danny obeys and steps back to allow the werewolf to climb inside his bedroom. When he is standing at his full height again, Peter runs his eyes appreciatively up and down Danny's mostly naked body and smirks when Danny crosses his arms over his chest in a display of self-consciousness.

Like he has anything to be self-conscious about.

"Looking good," Peter compliments, feeling a stirring in his gut that he hasn't felt in nearly a decade. Interesting.

"Why are you here? My parents are home!" Danny whispers fiercely.

"I know. I'm here for information."

"What information?"

"Your date with Stiles. I was told it ended a little too well."

"Yeah, it was good, I guess."

Peter walks around Danny and throws himself on the boy's bed, ignoring his sound of dismay. "The plan was just to make Derek jealous," he says, tucking his hands behind his head and letting his legs splay open. He doesn't bother fixing where his shirt has ridden up, exposing a strip of his tanned and toned abs, a decision that is proven a good one when Danny quickly checks him out as well. The boy's eyes linger on his stomach before settling on his face again, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"Walk me through it," Peter says.

Danny uncrosses his arms and shuffles awkwardly in place. "Well…we had a good time at the bowling alley, I drove him home, and we said goodnight."

"And that's it?" Peter asks doubtfully.

"I might have gotten a bit caught up in the moment."

"And?"

"And I kissed him," Danny admits sheepishly, but he continues before Peter can get mad at him. "But then the moment passed and we decided to just stay friends, I swear."

Peter purses his lips. "Hmm…I guess Derek must have seen the kiss and then left before he could see anything else."

"Derek was there?"

"Yes, I made sure of it," Peter answers. "That explains why he came back looking so upset."

"So…what're we going to do now?"

" _We_ aren't going to do anything," Peter says. "The last part of my plan is mine alone."

Danny sighs. "And you're not gonna tell me what it is, I'm guessing."

"Right."

"Fine. Can you leave now?" Danny asks, pointing to his open window. "I still have school tomorrow and I need to get some sleep."

Peter grins. "What, you don't want to cuddle?"

Danny huffs. "Not with you."

Rolling his eyes, Peter gets up from the teenager's bed and walks toward the window. When he passes Danny, he runs his index finger across his bare collarbones and is pleased when the simple touch makes him shiver delightfully. "Well, if you reconsider, Danny-boy, you know where to find me," Peter says.

He climbs out of the window and races off before Danny can respond. He has work to do.

* * *

_\- Wednesday, May 4th, 2011 -_

When school has let out the following afternoon, instead of going back to his own house, Scott rides his bike to the Stilinskis'. It's a familiar journey he hasn't taken in far too long, which serves to remind him of his friendship with Stiles and how good it used to be before the supernatural world got in the way and fucked everything up.

Before _he'd_ fucked everything up with his short-sightedness and arrogance.

Scott has never done as much soul-searching as he has done recently. He thinks the last time was when his dad left and he'd spent too long wondering what he'd done to drive the man away from him and his mother. He realised eventually that it wasn't his fault at all, in large part thanks to Stiles.

That's just one of the many things Stiles has done for him since they became friends in their early childhood. They were the two losers, the outcasts who no one else their age really wanted to befriend, Stiles because he was too loud and jittery and Scott because he was new and too shy. But neither of them really minded all of that because they always had each other.

Scott had always told himself that having one really close friend was better than having many he wasn't that close to anyway. They kept each other company. Stiles helped when Scott's dad left, and Scott helped as best he could when Stiles' mother died. He would like to think that things were even back then and he supposes they were, but that definitely isn't the case now.

Sure, the whole reason Scott was bitten was because Stiles dragged him out into the preserve that fateful night, but that wasn't really Stiles' fault—he hadn't known there was a crazed alpha werewolf out there—and the human boy had tried his best to make up for it by helping Scott get to grips with his new life as a werewolf. And after all of that, how did Scott repay Stiles? By lying to him and ignoring him constantly in favour of spending time with his new—and first ever—girlfriend. Perhaps Stiles would have done the exact same thing were their positions reversed, if Lydia had suddenly wanted to go out with him instead of Jackson. But no, Scott doesn't believe he would have, even though it would make things easier.

He has a lot to apologise for.

Scott arrives at the Stilinskis' before Stiles, hopefully just because his bike is faster than Stiles' Jeep. He pulls into the empty driveway—meaning the sheriff is at work—switches off his bike, kicks out the stand and then sets in to wait.

Fortuitously it doesn't take long for Stiles to get there as well. From his position sitting on the front steps of the house, Scott can see his oldest friend's confused and wary expression through the windshield of the Jeep. Stiles stares at him for several long moments, making Scott shift uncomfortably in place, before he gets out, locks his vehicle and approaches.

"Why are you here?" Stiles asks, stopping a few paces away.

"I want to talk to you," Scott replies, getting to his feet.

"What about?"

"Pretty much everything. I want to say I'm sorry."

Stiles appraises Scott and then walks the rest of the way to the front door. "Come in," he says, his tone full of reluctance.

Scott trails after Stiles into the house and on into the living room. The other boy is visibly tense, understandably so, making Scott feel even worse about the part he'd played in making things this way. He recalls the last time they'd spoken in the janitor's closet at school, how he'd come in hot and hard and hadn't even given Stiles a chance to tell him his side of the story. Allison was definitely right about that not being a good way to go about things, but Scott couldn't really see it clearly until now, with the evidence of what that confrontation did right in front of him.

After gesturing for Scott to sit down on the sofa, Stiles disappears into the kitchen. The beta can hear him rummaging around in the cupboards and the fridge door opening and closing, and then Stiles returns with two cold cans of Dr Pepper and two Twix bars. He holds one of each out to Scott with an impassive expression and then sits down in his dad's armchair, putting some distance between them. Scott looks down at his refreshments and recognises them for what they are, signs that Stiles is open to hearing him out. Sure enough, when Scott raises his eyes back to his friend, some of the tension has bled from his body and, while he is still obviously unsettled, there is hope in his eyes as well.

Scott had better not fuck this up. Again.

"Where do I even start?" he says, mostly to himself.

Stiles doesn't offer him any help, just takes a sip of his drink.

"Umm…I guess maybe the best place would be how many times I ditched you to hang out with Allison."

"Good choice."

"I know saying sorry for that can't make up for it, but I am," Scott says, putting all the sincerity he can muster into both his words and his eyes. "I was so caught up in her that I barely thought about you at all. It's no excuse, but she was my first girlfriend and I just got swept up in that."

"Was?" Stiles asks curiously.

"We're not together anymore," Scott explains. "She said to call her if I wanted to start things again, but I haven't. Not yet."

"Hmm…" Stiles pauses and then says, "You're right; that is no excuse."

"I wasn't there when you needed me, and I think I was actually partially responsible for some of the stuff that happened to you…like Gerard."

Scott bites his bottom lip when Stiles flinches at the name of Allison's grandfather. It's a very small thing that would be easily missable. Scott likely _would_ have missed it just a couple of weeks ago, but he is paying close attention now. The bruises on Stiles' face have faded, but there was evidently more damage done to him than just the physical.

"I shouldn't have worked with him," Scott continues. "I don't know what I was thinking…"

Stiles sets his Dr Pepper can on the coffee table. "I think I know. You wanted to take him down all by yourself and play the big hero, and you either didn't care or just didn't think about anyone who got hurt along the way. Even if one of them was me. Am I right?"

It's Scott's turn to wince. He wants to deny it but can't—if he wants to get his best friend back, which he does so badly, he needs to be completely honest with him about everything he has done. "You are," he says, looking shamefacedly down at his hands.

"I'm not the only one you need to give this part of your apology to," Stiles tells him. "Derek deserves to hear it too."

"I know. I'm gonna go to him after I leave here."

"And Erica and the others. You accused them all of something terrible."

"I'll talk to them as well."

"Good. Keeping talking then."

Scott takes a moment to recompose himself and tamp down the frustration that the way Stiles is speaking to him is causing. He reminds himself that it's more than warranted, which does the job. "I was an idiot who forgot all about you to hang out with my girlfriend. I worked with Allison's grandfather behind your back and didn't think of letting you or anyone else in on my plan. And then, when it was over, I didn't realise that you'd gotten hurt somewhere along the way. Derek laid into me about not seeing that you were hurt that night in the warehouse when I tried to confront him a couple weeks ago and get him to stop messing with you."

"Messing with me?" Stiles asks incredulously.

"I don't think that anymore," Scott hastens to add. "I still don't like him, but I can admit now that I was just…jealous."

"Why?"

"It felt like he was trying to steal you away from me to get back at me."

Stiles scoffs and rolls his eyes. "The person who drove me away from you was _you_ , Scott."

"I know that. Now. That's part of the apology that I'm giving to you and am going to try to give to him, if he'll even listen to me."

"Fine. Say he does and it goes well, what're you gonna do to make it up to us? To prove that you won't slip back into being the asshole you've been for weeks now? The apologies are all well and good, but actions speak louder than words."

"Well…" Scott thinks quickly, certain that Stiles won't give him much time to come up with the right answer. And if he gets it wrong, that'll probably be it. "I'm not together with Allison anymore, so there's no chance of me ignoring you for her now. And if we end up getting back together…I know what I did wrong now and I won't let it happen again. I don't want to lose my best friend."

Stiles looks moved for a moment, but then he smooths over the expression with something neutral. "And the other stuff? What about all of that?"

"I won't make a plan without talking to you about it first," Scott says firmly.

"Good, because they're shitty plans."

Part of Scott wants to point out that, while it nearly lost him Stiles, his plan to deal with Gerard _did_ work. He leaves it alone.

"You need to start listening to people," Stiles tells him. He chugs the rest of his Dr Pepper, seemingly not caring about how it must burn his throat, and slams the can back down on the coffee table. "You need to start listening to Derek especially. He's been a werewolf his entire fucking life, Scott. He knows way more about being one and living in this world than either of us do. Sure, his methods might not always work, but no one's perfect. I think even _I_ know more than you do, like I proved by helping you learn to control your anger. I actually pay attention to what other people tell me and I've done a shit-ton of research that you would know if you hadn't gone off on your own."

Scott just sits there and takes it, guessing that this has been brewing for weeks now.

"You didn't want to work with Derek? Fine," Stiles continues. "I know he wasn't great back then, and it took me some time to forgive him for gunning for Lydia when he thought she was the kanima. But even with all of that, you still could've worked with _me_. Gerard threatened your mom, I get that, but we could've figured something else out, something that didn't leave me in the dark and inadvertently make me another one of Gerard's victims."

"I'm sorry," is all Scott can think of to say in response.

"And as for Derek telling his betas to steal me away from you? That couldn't be further from the truth."

"I know."

"You know that _now_. What you said that day wasn't only insulting to them, it was insulting to me as well. I think I'm smart enough to know when someone is trying to manipulate me, and none of them were doing that."

"They wanted you in their pack for you," Scott says, nodding. "I can't blame them."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Scott."

"It's not flattery if it's true, is it?"

Stiles squints at the beta. "Whatever. The point is that yes, I wasn't a big fan of Derek or the others back then either, but if you'd actually given them another chance like I did, you would've seen how much things have already improved. Derek's actually listening to suggestions, treating the rest of the pack with respect—treating _me_ with respect, which is more than I can say for you lately. Erica, Boyd and Isaac have calmed down and are actually really fun to be around now. Jackson's still kind of a dick, but things aren't as hostile between us anymore."

"And Lydia? Are you…getting close with her?"

"Yeah, I am, but not in the way I know you're thinking. I still think she's great, but not in that way anymore."

"Really? You've wanted her for years. What changed?"

Stiles opens his mouth to say something but seems to catch himself before he can. Instead he shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. The point is, the pack is actually pretty great, and you'd be a part of that by now if you'd gotten your head out of your ass sooner."

"I'll make it right," Scott promises, not refuting any of what Stiles has just told him.

Having said everything he needed to say, the human boy loses the anger in his face and his tone. "Okay. I believe you."

"Thanks. I really am sorry."

"I know. You're forgiven."

Scott's eyes widen and he perks up like a puppy about to be fed. "What, really?"

"Yes," Stiles confirms with a sigh. "I won't forget, though. Consider yourself on probation. If you start acting like you were again, we're done. No warnings."

Scott nods fervently. "Okay."

For a moment Stiles doesn't say or do anything else, but then he stands up and opens his arms. "Come here."

Scott, immensely glad that things are starting to get back on track, eagerly hugs his best friend and squeezes him tight—a bit _too_ tight, as Stiles gasps into his ear. Abashed because he'd forgot in his happiness that he's basically superpowered now, Scott eases up and doesn't let go again until Stiles pats him on the back a few times and withdraws first.

"You're gonna see Derek now, right?" Stiles asks him.

Scott hesitates. "Honestly, I don't think I'm up for that just yet. I _will_ speak to him, but I'll do it tomorrow. I'd rather stay here and make up for lost time, if that's alright."

"What did you have in mind?"

* * *

Not long after Scott has left to go to his own home, Stiles is doing some outstanding homework up in his bedroom when he hears something strange outside. Looking up from his laptop screen, his instinctive reaction is to look at his window, having grown far too familiar with werewolves showing up there at all times of day and night. He doesn't hear any knocking, though, and after getting up to check he sees that there is no one on the other side of the glass. Thinking that maybe he just imagined the sound, Stiles tries to refocus on his English essay and has written another sentence and a half when he hears it again, louder this time.

It's definitely coming from outside, but on the ground floor.

Feeling unnerved now, Stiles debates whether he should just ignore it or check it out. The first option is the most appealing by far because, with all the things he has seen and experienced lately, he can't help but jump to the conclusion that the noise is something nefarious. But it just becomes more persistent the longer he leaves it and he knows he won't be able to get anything else written if he is worrying the whole time.

There's only one thing for it, really, and so, as much as he doesn't want to, Stiles grabs his bat from where it is stored in his closet and holds it securely as he leaves the safety of his bedroom, descends the stairs and listens for the sound again. There are a few seconds of silence and then…there it is, some sort of banging coming from the back of the house. Taking a deep breath, Stiles walks down the hallway and into the kitchen with his heartbeat racing in his ears.

"You've got this," he encourages himself. "It's probably just a raccoon or something."

Right when he reaches the back door and grabs the handle, the noise cuts off. He stands there, straining his ears to hear anything, but all there is is silence. He could leave it there, go back upstairs and try to finish his essay, but no; he needs to be sure.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Stiles yanks open the back door and steps out into the darkness, his bat held high, ready to swing at the first sign of movement.

There isn't any.

He takes another couple of steps just to make sure, scanning his eyes over the backyard, but again there is nothing. Just swaying grass that really needs cutting and the usual quiet sounds of wildlife from beyond the tree line that he couldn't make out from inside the house.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realised he was holding in his lungs, Stiles lowers his bat and starts to turn around to go back up to his bedroom when it happens.

Another sound, this one from right behind him.

Terrified, Stiles tightens his grip on the bat and is about to swing when something suddenly covers his mouth and nose, a foul-smelling piece of cloth. He inhales out of shock and instantly feels lightheaded. His vision quickly going black around the edges and his struggles turning feeble, Stiles hears the person holding the cloth over the lower half of his face say, "Shh, you'll thank me when this is all over," and then loses consciousness.


	14. Confessing the Truth

_\- Wednesday, May 4th, 2011 -_

Once Peter is sure that Stiles is tied securely to a chair in the basement of the empty house he'd scouted the day before, he leaves the teenager there and runs across Beacon Hills to the abandoned train station. He pushes his body hard so that, by the time he reaches his destination, he will be out of breath and his clothes drenched in sweat. Finally, just before he gets there, without thought he rakes the claws of his left hand down the side of his face, leaving deep wounds that will give just a bit more verisimilitude to the story he wants to spin.

As he'd expected, when Peter finally gets to the station, he finds Derek by himself. He is doing some push-ups dressed in jeans and one of his plain grey tank tops, but he stops as soon as Peter stumbles down the stairs and catches his breath with his legs bent and his hands resting on his knees.

"What's wrong?" Derek asks sharply, storming over to him.

"Rogue werewolves…on the other side of town…" Peter pants out.

Derek crouches down in front of him to get a better look at him. "You're injured."

Peter fights off a grin when he glimpses Derek's expression. It's worried, meaning that his lie has been bought. "I barely got away."

"How many?"

"Three," Peter answers, his breaths coming easier now, "maybe more. I got out of there fast."

Derek grabs the beta's chin and turns his head to the side to inspect the self-inflicted gashes running down his cheek. When he concludes that they'll heal well enough, he releases Peter and stands at his full height again. "Tell me exactly where you ran into them."

Peter pushes himself up as well and apprises his nephew of the new housing development that is on the other side of town, his heart still beating fast enough for any blips in its rhythm to be missed or easily explained away. "I was checking the houses out because they looked interesting, but then I scented the rogues. I went to investigate, got jumped and fought them off long enough to get away. I don't know who they are—I didn't recognise their scents—but they didn't seem too powerful or organised. Good enough that a three-on-one fight didn't seem like it would end well, though." He touches his gashes and winces. "Fucking assholes…"

"This is just what I needed tonight," Derek mumbles, pulling his phone out of his jeans.

"What're you doing?"

"Calling in the betas to help. This could be a good training opportunity."

"No!" Peter cries, grabbing his nephew's wrist before he can unlock the device.

"No?" Derek repeats disbelievingly.

"You should go now," Peter suggests, releasing him. "You can't risk them relocating or leaving before you can find them. Go. _I'll_ call in the troops and then I'll be right behind you."

Derek hesitates but eventually agrees. He runs out of the station, putting his trust in Peter exactly like Peter had wanted. Once the beta can no longer hear the engine of the Camaro, he drops his act, whipping off his henley and using it to wipe the blood from his face. He doesn't even touch his phone. He feels a little bad about lying to Derek like this, but the ends should justify the means and Derek can't be _too_ mad at him when it's all over, not when he finally has Stiles by his side.

Deciding not to worry about his nephew's inevitable wrath when he and Stiles inevitably put their heads together and figure out the truth, Peter looks down at his ruined shirt and thinks about something far more pleasant. Or someone, really.

He had mostly been playing around with Danny when he'd visited the boy the previous night, but not entirely. He really had liked what he'd seen, and if Danny had on some slim chance taken him up on his offer to cuddle, Peter would have leapt on it in a heartbeat. It has been far too long since he has known any sort of affection or companionship, not since the fire that claimed the lives of his wife and child. He still misses both of them every day, but he is sure that his wife wouldn't want him to be alone for the rest of his life. Sure, she might not have anticipated the person Peter chose being a sixteen-year-old boy, someone who isn't really age-appropriate, but life has a way of surprising them all. Peter sees potential there, and he intends to pursue it.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Derek to arrive at the new housing complex Peter had told him about. It's not the biggest building project he has ever seen—it consists of just twenty 'luxury' houses in total, he is informed by a sign—but he doesn't care about that now. He gives the houses a cursory glance and admires their clean white facades for all of a second before refocusing on the task at hand.

Derek sticks to the shadows and regulates his breathing, keeping it quiet and slow so that the rogue werewolves have less chance of hearing him. It will be impossible to have the element of surprise, he knows, not with his impending adversaries' enhanced senses, but he does what he can as he slinks around the edge of one house and pauses at the corner with his body pressed against the wall. He strains his ears and the rest of his senses for a sign of the rogues but detects nothing. He uses his eyes to look for anything out of the ordinary but doesn't find anything of note. All that's there is the odd piece of construction equipment that hasn't been cleared off of the premises yet and a few cigarette butts stamped out on the ground a few feet away.

Derek scents the air instead. At first, he can smell nothing but freshly cut grass, new paint, tobacco and a hint of sweat and cheap deodorant from the construction workers who likely ended work for the day a few hours ago. It's not a pleasant concoction, so Derek tries to block it out and moves to a different location to try his luck there.

A couple of houses down, amidst everything else, Derek picks up his uncle's strong scent. It still carries the sourness that it has had ever since Peter used Lydia and Derek to resurrect himself, but that is all that's unusual about it. Derek can't detect any negative emotion in it—and he has had a lot of practice. Apart from smugness, arrogance and playfulness, Peter has always been a very reticent person, never displaying any other emotion to anyone but his wife. Still, Derek expected to be able to pick up on anger or even fear from when his uncle was attacked by the other werewolves.

But there's nothing. In fact, Derek would go so far as to say that Peter's scent reeks of delight, which doesn't cohere at all with what Derek was told.

His suspicion growing, Derek nevertheless keeps investigating, just in case Peter wasn't lying. The rogue werewolves could have deadly intent, as they apparently proved by injuring Peter. If the injury was genuinely caused by a pack of rogue werewolves, of course—which, thanks to the lack of anything indicating their presence so far, Derek is beginning to doubt. He certainly wouldn't put it past his uncle to lie, but he has to make sure.

If there really are rogues trespassing on Hale land, they need to be taken care of before someone else gets hurt. Or worse, before they accidentally expose them all to the town's unaware denizens.

As he moves from his second hiding place to track Peter's scent further into the complex, something else strikes Derek as odd. He should have heard from his betas by now, at least received a text or something. Hell, a couple of them live reasonably close to the new complex and should have arrived already. This just adds to the oddness of the situation his uncle has got him into, but he pushes on until he picks up another scent mingling with Peter's. It's slightly sharper but _much_ more pleasant that the beta's, and Derek knows immediately to whom it belongs.

He has spent far too much time memorising it whenever they have been around each other in the past few weeks. It was a subconscious thing at first, but he couldn't stop even when he'd realised what he was doing.

Stiles was here. Or maybe still is.

Alarmed now, all of Derek's concerns that this might be a set-up disappear and an instinct to protect what is his takes over. He can stop imagining Stiles being taken by the rogues, maybe even being tortured and killed. The teenager would be the perfect target for someone who wanted to get to Derek for whatever reason. Derek doesn't even wonder how the rogues could have known to go after Stiles as he ceases sticking to the shadows and brazenly chases Stiles' scent trail, not giving a damn about being detected before he is ready.

Let them come. He'll tear them limb from limb for daring to touch Stiles.

Very soon, as he nears the other side of the complex, Derek hears a lone heartbeat. It's sluggish, as if the person it belongs to is unconscious or incredibly calm. Derek thinks that unconsciousness is the most likely of those two options. Somewhere deep down he already knows whose heartbeat it is, but he has to see them to make sure.

He tracks it to the final house in the complex, which isn't completed yet. The windows don't have glass in them; there are several clear plastic sheets hung up around the half-painted interior walls and spread out on the floors of the front rooms are workbenches and planks of wood. He knows that the owner of the heartbeat is somewhere in this house. He needs to get to them quickly, so he doesn't even bother locating the front or back door and instead opts to use the closest window. He climbs through it and takes advantage of his enhanced eyesight to avoid knocking into anything and creating a bunch of noise as he starts walking toward the heartbeat.

His ears lead him to a door, which when pushed open reveals a set of stairs leading down into a basement. There is even less light in the stairwell, but Derek doesn't hear or smell anyone else and so walks down them without caution. There is a second door at the bottom of the stairs, this one also closed. He grabs the knob, twists it, shoves open the door and steps inside to find his quarry.

There, right in the middle of the spacious but dim basement, is Stiles.

* * *

Danny sits on his bed with Jackson, both of them playing _Halo: Reach_ on Danny's beat-up Xbox 360. It's been too long since just the two of them have spent time together or slept over at each other's houses like Jackson is doing tonight, mostly because Jackson was avoiding him so that his new status as a werewolf wasn't revealed to him.

Things can never go back to how things were the year before, not now that they are both a part of the Hale pack, but maybe that's for the best. Even though he still doesn't really talk about his feelings, at least not anything deep, Danny can tell that Jackson seems lighter somehow. Freer. That's the case for everyone else as well. Danny didn't interact with them much at all back when they were human, but he remembers seeing Erica, Isaac and Boyd around school and, like Jackson, it's like a weight has been lifted from each of their shoulders, too.

Erica is snarky and a real firecracker, whereas before she was subdued and always stuck to herself—not that Danny could blame her, what with all the bullying.

Isaac is no longer living under the tyranny of his abusive father and actually has people looking out for him now.

Boyd is still quiet, but he doesn't sit by himself in the cafeteria anymore and Danny has seen him crack a smile or two since he was welcomed into the pack.

Lydia has less social standing than she'd had before, but she is kinder and no longer hides the power of her brain.

Danny had only interacted with Derek once, when Derek was masquerading as Stiles' cousin Miguel, but he can tell that the alpha is also happier, probably because Stiles isn't making him strip anymore—a real shame, Danny thinks—and he is no longer dealing with the murder of his older sister.

Speaking of Peter…Danny isn't sure what to think about that one. A murderer who used one of Danny's friends to come back from the dead after his nephew killed him. Everything about that sentence screams that Peter is bad news, and even without his backstory he's annoyingly cocky. But Danny can't prevent himself from liking him somehow.

Something about Peter is intriguing, makes Danny question his own sanity. The man actually manages to pull off the arrogance much better than Jackson ever has. Danny wouldn't say it aloud, but something about Peter's smirk is…endearing, and he is sure that, if Peter _really_ presented a threat, Derek, Stiles and everyone else wouldn't continue to let him slink around in the periphery of the pack. Danny is also sure that there is a heart somewhere beneath all of Peter's bravado, otherwise he wouldn't have roped him and Lydia into getting Derek and Stiles together.

The fact that Peter is incredibly attractive helps considerably, something he obviously knows and, with his tight clothes, has no trouble flaunting. Danny gets lost for a moment recalling when the man had paid him a visit the previous night and draped himself almost seductively across the bed on which Danny and Jackson sit in the present, how his T-shirt had ridden up. Danny was momentarily powerless to resist the lure of Peter's happy trail, which Peter had known, damn him. And then the flirting…it was a lot, and God help him, Danny had liked it.

"Dude, where _are_ you?"

Jackson's question brings Danny out of his thoughts. He glances at his friend and then looks back at his TV screen to find that his character has been standing still, probably for a while. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he says, readjusting his grip on his controller.

"Must've been something important."

"Not really. I just missed this," Danny lies.

"This?"

"Y'know, me and you, hanging out together like old times."

Jackson nods understandingly. "I feel you."

Danny only half concentrates on the game they are playing, the other half of his brain still filled with thoughts of Peter. "What do you think of the guys in the pack?" he asks his best friend.

"They're okay, I guess," Jackson replies distractedly, rapidly pressing buttons on his controller. "Why?"

"I was just wondering. You've spent more time with them than I have."

"I don't really have strong opinions either way. The other three betas are tolerable and Derek's cool now that he's actually telling me stuff. Stilinski's still a total annoying spaz, so nothing new there. At least he doesn't come with McCall attached at the hip anymore and he can actually cook well." Jackson pauses the game and points his index finger at Danny. "Don't you dare tell him I said that."

The other boy drops his controller in his lap and holds up his palms. "Hey, your secret's safe with me," he says placatingly. "I think you're being kinda unfair, though."

Jackson scoffs. "Am I?"

"Stiles is a good guy. I still don't even know where the hell you two got off on the wrong foot."

"Neither do I," Jackson admits after some thought, "but that doesn't change anything."

"I seriously think you should give him another chance."

"Why're you getting so defensive of him?"

"I'm not. He's just a nice guy."

"He's annoying."

"To you."

Jackson rolls his eyes and puts down his controller as well, seeming to realise that they aren't going to resume playing for a while. "Wait," he says, narrowing his eyes, "was Stilinski the one you had a date with this week? _Stilinski_?"

"Yeah," Danny says unapologetically. "It was part of Peter's plan, though. You know about that, right?"

"I was there when he got Lydia involved in that stupid thing, yeah," Jackson replies. "Still…going on a date with Stilinski. I'm sorry, dude; that must've been rough."

"It was actually a lot of fun. If it hadn't all just been a ploy to make Derek jealous, I'd've gladly gone out with Stiles again." Danny grins when Jackson looks at him like he has lost his mind. "Hey, like I said, he's nice, and even _you_ can't deny that he cares about people a lot. Plus, now that he's letting his hair grow out, he's kinda hot."

"I think I'm gonna be sick…" Jackson murmurs.

"Oh, shut up."

The beta is about to say something else but then whips his head around to peer at the window, which Danny had left open all evening for no reason at all.

"What is it?" Danny asks his friend.

"Someone's coming."

Danny can't ignore the way his heartbeat speeds up slightly, and not from fear. "Who?"

"Oh, just little ol' me," comes a third voice.

Danny turns to look at the window again and fights having any sort of reaction that would give away that, against his better judgement, he is glad to see that Peter is the one who has crawled in through his window while he wasn't looking. Unfortunately, he is unable to be entirely successful. He releases an uncharacteristic squeaking sound and feels his face heat up because, for some reason, Peter isn't wearing a shirt, and Danny finds himself entranced by the display of tanned skin and muscle.

"Why the hell are you here?" Jackson demands, glaring. "And why are you half naked?!"

"Isn't it about time you went home?" Peter counters, glancing pointedly at the red clock Danny has hanging on the wall above his television.

"No. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm sleeping over tonight."

Peter chuckles. "No you're not."

"What? Yes I am!"

"Nope, the person who's sleeping over tonight is me. Now run on home."

Danny gapes when Peter ignores Jackson's affronted sputtering and winks at him instead.

"You can't tell me what to do," Jackson growls, looking like he is getting close to wolfing out on the other beta.

"Jacks," Danny says calmly, putting a hand on his arm to get his attention. Once he has it, he smiles at him sheepishly and finds the words spilling from his mouth before he can reconsider them, the weird pull Peter already has on him getting stronger. "It's not worth fighting him over. You can stay over some other time. It's okay."

"You want me to leave you alone with this asshole?" Jackson asks dubiously.

"Yes."

Peter grins and strolls toward the bed. "Listen to your friend."

"I'm not—" Jackson starts to grit out, but Danny interrupts him.

"Jacks, seriously, it's alright. You should go. We'll talk tomorrow."

"If you're still alive then!"

"Peter won't hurt me, will you, Peter?" Danny looks briefly at the beta, widening his eyes pointedly.

"Of course not. It isn't my intention to cause you _pain_ ," he answers lasciviously.

Danny gulps and turns back to Jackson. "See?" he says shakily. "I'll be fine."

While he still seems uncertain, Danny is pleased when Jackson eventually acquiesces. The beta grabs the overnight bag he'd packed from where it sits on the floor next to the bed and walks to the door. He looks back over his shoulder at Peter, wearing an expression that clearly says, "If you hurt my friend, I'll kill you." Peter just winks again and waves condescendingly, and once Jackson is gone, he redirects his attention to Danny with his lips still stretched in the predatory grin that is becoming familiar.

Now that they are alone, Danny finds himself unsure how to proceed. All of his confidence is somehow gone under Peter's gaze, which is unusual. No one has had this effect on him before, not even any of his ex-boyfriends. He was always the one in control, but he gets the distinct impression that he won't be here. He kind of likes it.

"So…" he says, getting up from his bed and shutting his bedroom door.

"So," Peter echoes unhelpfully, apparently enjoying watching Danny flounder.

"Why _are_ you here? Honestly."

Peter tilts his head to the side and loses his grin. "Honestly?"

"Yeah."

Peter clasps his hands behind his back, pushing out his impressive chest. Danny admires it momentarily before fixing his gaze on the beta's face.

"You intrigue me in a way I haven't been intrigued by someone in a long time," Peter explains, all sense of guile gone.

"I do? In…in what way?"

"I think you know what way."

Danny gulps again. "You're serious."

"Deadly. I'm interested in you, and I know you're interested in me, too."

"Is this just a sex thing?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Danny honestly doesn't know. He says as much.

"Well, it can be whatever you want it to be," Peter says. "Despite the image that what I've done in the past may present, I'm not here to take advantage of anyone."

"You're a lot older than I am," Danny points out, which is one of his main concerns. "How old are you anyway?"

"34. Is that an issue for you?"

"I could be. I mean, how would I even explain this to people? My parents? 'Cause I think they'd have a serious issue with me dating a man who is over twice my age."

"If you decide you want me long-term, who says your parents have to know right away?"

Danny frowns and looks down at the floor, guessing that Peter has a point. He is already keeping the whole werewolf thing a secret from them, so another secret isn't that big a deal. Still, it's a secret of a different sort and would involve even more hiding and running around behind his parents' backs, which he isn't sure he is comfortable with. He must ruminate for some time, because when he raises his eyes again, Peter has moved to sit at the foot of his bed, his hands folded in his lap as he waits patiently. Danny hadn't even heard the beta move.

"Have you decided?" Peter asks him.

"I don't know…"

"Look, I think we're overcomplicating this," Peter says gently, beckoning Danny closer. Danny steps into his space and allows himself to be pulled down so that they are sitting next to each other. "You like me, and I like you. If you're just after sex from me, then fine, I have no issue with that. If you want to pursue a proper relationship with me, I'm alright with that as well. But you don't have to make any decisions now. Maybe we should take things as they come, and you can get to know me a bit better before you decide. How does that sound?"

Everything Danny has learned about Peter speaks of someone who shouldn't be able to sound this reasonable, especially not about something so big. The way Peter is looking at him is also surprising. There is a softness to his eyes that Danny has never seen before, and it makes him want to take a chance.

His decision finally made—and it was easier than he was making it just a minute ago—Danny doesn't say anything else, just gives into temptation. He climbs over onto Peter's lap and smashes their mouths together. Peter doesn't seem caught off-guard at all, which is unfair, so Danny kisses him harder, revelling in the taste of him and the scratch of the rough stubble across Peter's jaw beneath his palms. He feels the beta's hands come to rest on his hips as he kisses back and quickly loses track of time, moaning into Peter's mouth and discovering that he is out of his depth.

Danny likes to consider himself a good kisser, but he has _nothing_ on Peter. The werewolf is evidently an expert, can make Danny feel like he is shaking apart with just his lips and tongue. This of course leads Danny on a tangent, the tiny part of his brain that is still online wondering what else Peter is an expert at.

Soon enough, Danny's lungs are burning and he pulls away. "That was…" he pants, wide-eyed, not missing that a certain part of Peter feels a lot harder than it was when he'd first clambered onto his lap. He is ridiculously pleased by this fact.

"I know," Peter agrees, his voice rough. "Have you decided what you want this to be?"

"I think so."

"And?"

"Let's go on a date sometime."

Peter's eyes shine, and not with smugness. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But…for now…" Danny, too horny to stop because Peter is sexy as hell, kisses the beta again and says against his lips, "I want you to fuck me."

In the next second, Danny holds on as Peter effortlessly lifts him up, turns around and throws him down on the bed. He willingly parts his legs when Peter crawls up over him, joy replaced by lust as he returns to the predatory demeanour Danny is more used to seeing. He is unbearably turned on by it and arches up into him, desperate to be touched.

"You want it bad, don't you?" Peter murmurs, grabbing both of Danny's hands and pinning them above his head.

Danny tests Peter's grip and whimpers when he isn't given an inch. He has never really thought that he would be aroused by being treated roughly, and yet here he is, feeling like he is on the verge of coming and he hasn't even got his jeans and underwear off yet.

"Yeah…I want you inside me," he responds.

Peter's eyes glow electric-blue. "Good."

* * *

Stiles is tied to a chair with a blindfold over his eyes. He is unconscious but, judging by the rising pace of his heartbeat, Derek suspects that he is close to waking up.

The sight of his mate in a state of such helplessness has Derek's protective instincts kicking in full force. Not even tripping over the fact that he just called Stiles his mate in his head, he runs over to the teenager and reaches for the rope keeping Stiles' wrists bound to the arms of the chair. He tugs on it but it's done up tight enough that it would be difficult to undo without risking rubbing Stiles' wrists raw.

Derek concludes that using his claws would be the best way to free his mate. It will be efficient and he believes he can cut through the rope with little trouble. He brings forth his inner wolf enough for his claws to come out on his left hand and uses his right to hold Stiles' arm still, just to make sure he doesn't move and cause Derek to accidentally cut him instead of the ropes.

But, as soon as he touches Stiles, the boy wakes up with a violent jolt.

Stiles' heartbeat swiftly goes from zero to a hundred and his breaths already come out short and fast, presumably as he grasps the position he is in. His scent becomes distressed. He turns his head from side to side and starts to fight against his restraints, twisting in the chair and attempting to yank his wrists out of the ropes. Derek can easily foresee the damage that Stiles could do to himself and, pushing back his wolf, he takes hold of Stiles' head. He was going to hold it still and talk to him to calm him down, but as soon as Derek touches him, all of Stiles' struggles cease instantaneously.

"Who are you? Where am I?!" Stiles demands, his breathing still fast.

"Stiles, it's me," Derek says, undoing the blindfold so that the teenager can see again.

Stiles blinks several times as his eyes focus, and then he stares hopefully up at the alpha. "Derek?"

"Yeah, it's okay. You're safe."

Stiles tugs against his restraints again. "Why am I here? What's going on?"

"I don't know. Hold on; I'll get you out."

Derek is glad when his mate does as he is told, staying statue-like as Derek brings out his claws again and finally cuts through the ropes. When all of Stiles' limbs are free, Derek takes his hands, helps him to get up and then, still riding high on his protective instincts, pulls Stiles into his arms. He holds on tight and shoves his nose into Stiles' neck when Stiles hugs him back, his body still shaking with fear. Derek doesn't want to let go anytime soon, the thought of what could have happened to his mate overriding the self-doubt he has drowned in for the past few weeks. He doesn't care that Stiles is with Danny now. He is done staying away.

Even if he wanted to, he doesn't think he could.

"Not that I'm not enjoying this, but…why are you hugging me?" Stiles asks quietly, his voice still trembling from his earlier fear.

Unable to answer verbally, Derek pulls away just far enough to rest their foreheads together. He keeps his eyes open and sees that Stiles does, too. They're beautiful, especially up this close, but they carry clear confusion. So, to elucidate the reason for the hug, Derek throws the last of his inhibitions away, closes his eyes and brings their lips together in a tender kiss.

Stiles goes rigid in Derek's arms but, when Derek doesn't stop, he relaxes and kisses the alpha back. It's tentative, like he can't really believe that the kiss is happening. Derek can relate and kisses the teenager more forcefully. He licks across the seam of Stiles' lips and slides his tongue past them when they open for him. Stiles whimpers and moulds his thinner body against Derek's, his hands coming to rest on the werewolf's chest like he is going to push him away.

But he doesn't. Derek threads the fingers of one hand through Stiles' hair and keeps his other arm wrapped around the small of Stiles' back to pull them impossibly closer. He keeps kissing him until Stiles does push against him, but he doesn't go far.

"What was that?" Stiles breathes, looking at Derek like he has never seen him before.

"I'm sorry," Derek says, not letting him go in spite of the apology, "I know you're with Danny, but I just couldn't hold back anymore."

Stiles blinks dumbly. "I'm lost."

Derek clenches his jaw and looks away when he realises that he will have to actually use words instead of actions.

"I…like you," he says stiltedly, already frustrated with himself.

"You 'like' me?" Stiles repeats, still sounding entirely confused.

"Yes."

"Like… _like_ -like me?"

Derek doesn't approve of the juvenile phrasing but nods anyway because it's true.

"I can't believe this." Stiles wrenches himself away from Derek and paces back and forth, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "You— How long?!"

Derek, fearing that he is already beginning to lose Stiles, holds his arms stiffly at his sides and battles with himself to keep speaking, to put it all on the table. "I guess there's always been this…tension…between us, but I didn't wake up to how I feel about you until just after Gerard was dealt with and the pack came back together," he explains, his eyes locked on Stiles as the boy keeps pacing. "You take care of the betas. You cook for us, provide ideas on how to improve things. You take care of _me_. Those are things the alpha mate usually does. I didn't want to burden you with all of that, and then I didn't want to come between you and Danny, but, like I said, I couldn't hold back anymore when Peter told me he was attacked by rogue werewolves and I discovered you were here."

Stiles nods to himself and finally stands still again. "Just so we're on the same page," he says, staring intently at Derek, "you want me— _you_ want _me_ —and…what?"

"I'm sorry if this complicates things between you and Danny," the alpha repeats.

"Danny and I aren't together like that."

Derek is stunned. "You're not?"

"No. We decided it was best to just stay friends at the end of our date."

"But I saw you kiss him."

Stiles squints at Derek. "Okay, one: how do you know we kissed? And two: you saw _him_ kiss _me_."

"Peter told me about your date and…I might have spied on you."

Stiles' eyes narrow even further. "Peter told you about that?"

"Yes," Derek confirms. He can see the cogs turning in Stiles' head.

"So Peter told you about my date with Danny and then, a couple days later, he tells you some story about rogue werewolves trespassing in your territory. Doesn't that seem awfully coincidental to you?"

Derek thinks back to his earlier doubts and nods. "It does." He sniffs the air and again doesn't pick up any strange scents, just Stiles' and Peter's.

"Do you smell anything?" Stiles asks.

"Just Peter."

"When I was taken, I didn't see anyone," the human says, terror creeping back into his voice as he no doubt relives the moment. Derek steps a bit closer, wanting to offer him comfort but not knowing whether it would be welcome or not. "I heard someone say something to me as I was losing consciousness," Stiles continues, oblivious. "It was a man. He said I'd thank him after it was all over."

Derek can see that they have both reached the same conclusion. "Did you recognise the voice?" he asks, just to make sure.

"I think so…"

"Let me guess."

They both say Peter's name at the same time.

"God, this was all part of some sick game of his!" Derek exclaims, balling his hands into fists.

"But why? Why the hell would he do that to me?"

"To get to _me_ ," Derek theorises. "To make me go after you."

"To make you jealous," Stiles finishes, countenance like he can't quite wrap his head around all of this information. "I guess it worked."

Derek nods slowly. "It did."

"So you kissed me."

"I did."

"And…do you want to be with me then? Go on dates and all that? Is that what this is?"

Pushing Peter aside for now, Derek finds an untapped well of confidence within himself, just large enough for him to meet Stiles' gaze. "I do."

"And what would being the alpha's mate mean? I don't remember coming across that in my research."

"It means being bound together. It's a bit like marriage, I guess, but there would be no divorce. It means forever. My parents were mates. I would never force that on you, though."

"And you see me as your mate?"

Derek feels uncomfortably vulnerable as he whispers, "I think you could be."

The two stare at each other for several tense seconds and then Stiles all but throws himself at him. Derek tries to speak but finds his mouth otherwise occupied. Going with it, he holds Stiles to him again and kisses the boy with everything he couldn't say. He thinks that he might be in love, and he gets the impression from the way that Stiles clings to him that he feels the same, but Derek can't bring himself to actually utter that word. Maybe one day.

"So are we dating now?" Stiles asks when they pull apart once more.

"If you want."

Stiles worries at his bottom lip, a distracting sight. "But what about my dad?"

"He knows," Derek responds. "He actually already gave us his blessing."

" _What_?!" Stiles squawks. "When?!"

"After the dinner he forced me to come to, as I was getting ready to leave."

"So _that's_ what he talked to you about…and probably why he wasn't shocked when I came out to him as bisexual and why he seemed confused when he found out I was going out with Danny. He thought I was going out with you."

"Probably."

Stiles hums thoughtfully and then shrugs. "Well I'll be damned."

Derek hums as well, uncertain what else to say.

"So…what happens now?"

"Now we get out of here," Derek answers, guiding Stiles toward the staircase leading out of the basement.

"Good idea."

* * *

Stiles and Derek don't say anything else to each other on the journey to Stiles' house. They walk briskly away from the housing complex until they reach where Derek had left his car, and then they sit in companionable silence as the alpha drives the rest of the way to Stiles' home. As they pass through the main part of town and enter the residential area in which Stiles lives, the boy glances at Derek and notes that the alpha's right hand is resting on the centre console.

Watching the alpha's face to gauge his reaction, Stiles hooks their pinky fingers together, and when Derek raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't protest, he feels brave enough to interlock the rest of their fingers so that they are properly holding hands. It feels strange at first because Stiles isn't used to it and still can't quite believe that he can actually do this after so much time spent wanting, but he loves the weight and warmth of Derek's slightly larger hand in his.

When they reach his house and exit the Camaro, Stiles finds the building imposing, an impression he has never had before.

"What's wrong?" Derek enquires, coming to stand in front of him.

"It's just…the last time I was here…" He trails off, but Derek seems to understand.

"I'm gonna kill Peter," the alpha says heatedly, nostrils flaring.

"Can it maybe wait until tomorrow?" Stiles asks softly, shuffling his feet. "I kinda don't wanna be alone right now."

Derek takes a breath and calms himself down. "Of course."

Stiles keeps them waiting on the edge of the driveway for a while longer. Derek waits patiently the entire time, and when Stiles is finally ready to enter his home, the werewolf takes his hand again as they step over the threshold. Once the door has been locked, they walk into the living room and, with both the overhead light and a lamp that stands in the corner of the room switched on, they sit next to each other on the sofa.

"You okay?" Derek asks his younger companion, pulling him flush against his side.

Stiles lays his head on Derek's bare shoulder. "I guess. Tonight just brought back some memories I'd rather forget forever."

"What memories?"

"The night Gerard took me from the lacrosse field."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now. Thanks, though. You being here is helping enough."

"Okay."

Silence descends once more over the new couple. Derek slouches further down the sofa so that his ass nearly comes off of the cushion, and Stiles slides down with him. The human ends up with his legs stretched out across the other cushions and his head resting on Derek's broad chest, listening to and taking comfort from the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He thinks over everything he now knows about Peter's machinations and Derek's feelings for him and finds that they shed new light on a staggering amount of recent events:

The strange way Derek had looked at him before they both left the warehouse the night Gerard was defeated.

Lydia's comment about him being oblivious when he visited her in her bedroom.

Peter's insistence that Stiles start coming to pack training sessions.

Lydia's odd behaviour during the training session in the preserve, when she'd awkwardly flirted with him. Peter must have been behind that.

Peter taking the free space on the other side of the circle when it came time to eat, meaning that Derek had to sit in the space right next to Stiles.

Peter making Derek and Stiles sit together again when they all went to the movies.

Peter going behind Derek's back and bringing Danny into the pack.

Derek agreeing to come to dinner with Stiles and his dad and letting Stiles comfort him, albeit not very much, when he told the sheriff about his history with Kate Argent.

Danny asking Stiles on a date and Derek's reaction to overhearing that conversation.

A lot of it now makes much more sense to Stiles than it did before tonight. He relays everything to Derek and wiggles even closer to him, rubbing his cheek against the soft fabric of the alpha's tank top. Derek adds a few other incidents from his own memory, most of it revolving around Peter's recent behaviour. Stiles finds particular interest in the words Peter told Derek two and a half weeks ago, about helping his nephew get what he wants most. What Derek wanted most was evidently Stiles, which just adds further credence to their suspicions that Peter masterminded tonight, too.

It's after midnight now, and despite the fact that Stiles was unconscious not too long ago, it wasn't exactly restful and he is feeling the effects of the evening fast catching up to him. He can barely keep his eyes open and thinks idly of maybe relocating upstairs to his bed, but that would likely mean Derek leaving and he doesn't want that to happen yet.

Plus, he is so _comfortable_ , Derek's chest making an amazing pillow.

"Sleep, Stiles," the alpha instructs gently, sensing his fatigue. He wraps his arm tighter around Stiles' back and rests his chin against the top of his head.

" 'K," Stiles mumbles.

Just before he drifts off, he sends up a prayer that, when he wakes up in the morning, he won't discover that this was all a dream.


	15. Teaching a Lesson

_\- Thursday, May 5th, 2011 -_

John Stilinski is exhausted when he arrives at his home early in the morning. He has just got off a double shift at the station to cover for a deputy who needed to leave to be with his pregnant wife, who went into early labour. He was glad to do it, but no amount of coffee was enough to keep him feeling wide awake and now all he wants is to grab a quick snack from the kitchen and head straight up to bed to sleep for a week. But when John unlocks the front door and enters his house, he discovers that it will be a while longer before this want can be fulfilled.

The house is eerily quiet. It's still early enough that Stiles could just be sleeping, but the boy is usually up and about by now.

Not wanting his son to be late for school, John walks past the living room without looking at it and ascends the stairs to the first floor. He passes the bathroom, which is empty, knocks on Stiles' closed bedroom door and calls his name, but he hears no movement on the other side.

With a frown, John turns the handle, pushes the door open and steps inside to wake Stiles up, but he finds the bed empty too. His first thought is that something bad has happened. Maybe it's just paranoia, but then again, with all the things Stiles has managed to find his way into the middle of lately, with how many times he has narrowly avoided being killed, John doesn't think anyone could blame him for jumping to conclusions. He checks his phone just in case Stiles had tried to get in touch with him and he didn't hear his ringtone or a text come in, but there are no missed calls or unread messages, just the time and his lock screen wallpaper—a photograph of him, his late wife Claudia and a six-year-old Stiles all smiling at the camera.

His concern exacerbating, John decides to search the rest of the house before doing anything rash, just in case he somehow missed his son. A thorough inspection of the rest of the first floor fails to provide positive results, so John returns downstairs. The dining room and kitchen are much the same, but when John finally checks the living room, he finds him. There, lying lengthways on the sofa, is Stiles.

And he isn't alone.

John is surprised to find Derek Hale lying there with his son, especially considering how close together they are. It's an intimate position, Stiles cuddled up to Derek's side with his head on his chest and Derek's arm wrapped tightly around him.

John didn't expect this to happen.

After the dinner, he had suspected that Derek and his son were involved in a romantic relationship that they weren't ready to reveal to him, maybe because Stiles hadn't even come out to John yet. But since neither of them were very subtle about hiding their feelings for one another, John easily picked up on what wasn't being said throughout that evening. And then, when Stiles had finally told John about his sexuality and announced that he was going on a date, John had expected to find Derek waiting for his son on the doorstep. To say that he was shocked to see Danny Mahealani there instead was an understatement.

It called into question what John thought he knew about Stiles and Derek. Were they ever actually together? He had to reconsider everything. He was so sure that Stiles had feelings for Derek, and vice versa, but maybe they were both hiding their feelings from each other. Or maybe John was just wrong, as unlikely as it had seemed. He had recovered quickly and, once Stiles had said his goodbyes and left with Danny, he'd shrugged it off. Danny was a more appropriate partner for Stiles to choose, after all, both because of their shared age and because Danny didn't come with the history and baggage that Derek did.

But still. The way Stiles had looked at Derek…it reminded John of the way Claudia used to look at him. It just didn't make sense.

John shakes his thoughts away and steps further into the living room. He walks around to stand in front of the sofa and better take in the pair lying on it. They do look kind of cute, he has to admit.

It's then that John notices Derek isn't asleep anymore, or maybe he never was. The younger man looks warily up at him, like he is afraid of chastisement, and John doesn't miss the way Derek pulls Stiles even tighter against him. If he is honest, John is a little miffed that Derek apparently slept over without getting permission first, but it's not like he slept in Stiles' bed. They clearly didn't do anything, not that John's disapproval would've stopped his son.

"Hello," John says.

"Hello," Derek echoes, his voice quiet.

"Let's move this somewhere else, shall we?"

Although it's obvious he doesn't want to move and is apprehensive about whatever he suspects John wants to talk to him about, Derek eases gently out from beneath Stiles. John watches with interest, noting how carefully Derek treats his son in order to not wake him up. Stiles makes a small noise of disapproval at losing his warm sleeping companion and stretches out a hand like he is searching for Derek, but a few seconds after his head rests on a small square cushion instead of Derek's chest and the bearded man steps out of Stiles' reach, he settles again. Satisfied, John catches Derek's eye and tilts his head toward the kitchen.

Once they are there, John walks around the island and leans back against the sink, while Derek stays standing awkwardly just inside the doorway.

"So, you and Stiles are together," John states, seeing no point in beating around the bush.

"Yeah," Derek confirms, chin raised defiantly like he thinks John will have rescinded his earlier approval.

"How long?" the sheriff asks.

"Since last night."

John nods. "I see. Let me reiterate then."

"Fine."

"I'm not saying I really understand it," John says, changing his expression to something more open, "but as long as you make Stiles happy, I won't stop it."

Derek seems surprised. "Thank you. Stiles is…" he trails off and glances in the direction of the living room.

"Yes?" John prods.

"I think he's the best thing that's ever happened to me," Derek finishes. It's obviously difficult for him to be so candid.

John appreciates it greatly. "Have you given any more thought to what we talked about?"

Stiles enters the room then, awake now. He looks like a deer in headlights and blinks several times when he sees John and Derek standing there, like he can't quite comprehend it. "What who talked about?" he asks.

"Just a couple offers I gave Derek during dinner," John replies.

"Offers?"

John frowns, confused. "You don't remember? You were there."

Stiles shakes his head and looks worriedly at Derek, who stares impassively back. "Okay, seriously, someone tell me what's going on here!"

"Calm down, son," John placates, seeing the meltdown that is about to happen. It's evident that Stiles is panicking inside but trying unsuccessfully to hide it, most likely about the possibility of John finding them in a compromising position. "It's nothing bad. Since Derek has been staying in a hotel ever since he came back to town, two of the conditions of me allowing your relationship with him to go ahead was that he find a real place to live and that he start to properly reintegrate himself back into society. And, to help him with that, I offered to put him in touch with a realtor I know who does good work. Or…I offered him the spare room here."

Stiles swallows tightly. "You know about us?"

"You didn't exactly do very much to hide it this morning, did you?" John points out, his amusement growing when his son's face turns bright-red.

"And you're really okay with…with me and Derek being together like that?"

"I am. For now. As long as Derek keeps in mind what I said." Johns turns back to said man. "So, Derek, what's it going to be?"

* * *

Stiles walks into school in a daze, still unable to grasp how his morning has gone so far.

Waking up to find Derek gone was terrifying. His first thought was that Derek had broken his promise and left during the night. The thought made him incredibly sad and hurt, but then the idea creeped in that the previous night was really all a dream like he'd feared before falling asleep on Derek's chest, that he and the alpha hadn't confessed their feelings for each other and he'd have to continue pretending to be fine whenever they were around each other. But then he'd heard voices coming from the kitchen and his fears were replaced by new ones. His dad and Derek were talking, which in Stiles' mind couldn't mean anything good.

But, inexplicably, it had, even if what ensued was so confounding that Stiles could barely keep up.

Now, as he walks through the halls to his locker, he knows that his dad is helping Derek to move into the house. Derek will be living with them from now on. He and Derek will be fucking _living together_. Sure, all three of them had kept up the pretence that Derek was moving into the guest room, but they all knew that this pretence wouldn't be upheld for very long.

Stiles' dad had pulled him aside just before he left for school and warned him that the living arrangements would change again if Derek's presence caused his grades to suffer. He also said that he didn't want to hear or see anything, which was mortifying, mostly because Stiles knew that Derek could hear every word his dad was saying. He could only stammer that they'd only just got together and he hadn't even thought about actually doing anything like that with Derek yet. It was technically a lie, since Stiles had fantasised quite a bit about sex with Derek since he accepted his feelings for the alpha, but he wasn't going to say that to his dad.

Still, what he _did_ say seemed to appease the sheriff enough to let him leave the house and get away from that conversation.

Stiles had felt guilty because he was leaving Derek to deal with his dad alone, but Derek can handle himself and Stiles had the excuse of needing to get to school. It would all work out in the end. Even so, Stiles can't pinpoint how things have progressed so quickly, how he'd gone from having nothing, to finding out that Derek has feelings for him, to actually _living_ with Derek, all in under twelve hours. It's terrifying and wonderful in equal measure.

It's all happening so fast, and there is a tiny voice in the back of Stiles' mind which worries about what Derek moving in with him and his dad will do to their brand-new relationship, whether moving at such a brisk speed will hinder things and destroy them before they can even really begin. Maybe that was his dad's plan, but Stiles doesn't believe his dad would do that. If the sheriff had a real issue with him and Derek, he would be upfront about it and wouldn't invite Derek to move in in the first place.

When Stiles reaches his locker, he finds Erica, Boyd and Isaac waiting for him.

"What's up with you?" the blonde asks him, obviously picking up on the daze Stiles is still in.

"I think he's finally snapped," Isaac declares.

"Oh, shut up."

" _You_ shut up!"

"I'm fine," Stiles interjects before a scrap can start. He enters his locker combination, opens the door and transfers a couple of books he won't need until later into it from his backpack. "I just had a strange morning is all."

"Ooh, do tell," Erica smirks, her interest piqued.

Even Isaac can't hide his.

"It's nothing," Stiles evades, not really willing to get into everything yet. But then he supposes that they'll find out eventually. "Okay, if you really want to know…"

"We do!" Erica insists. "So spill, mister."

"Wait," Isaac says, taking a step closer to Stiles.

"Personal space!" Stiles squeaks, tensing up when Isaac grabs his arms and holds him still while he sniffs him.

"You smell a lot like Derek," the beta says, frowning as he steps away again.

Erica frowns as well and does exactly as Isaac had just done, at which point Stiles bats her away.

"Can we stop smelling me, please? It's getting weird!" he pleads. He looks at Boyd with extreme caution, which makes the taller boy roll his eyes. He should've known this would happen. He had basically slept on Derek the whole night and hadn't had time to shower before leaving the house, so Derek must be all over him. Plus, Derek's scent was a bit stronger than usual—but no less pleasant—Stiles suspects because Peter had caught him in the middle of doing more pull-ups in the train station or something. The alpha seems to do that a lot, maybe to keep busy.

"You and Derek finally got your shit together, didn't you?" Erica enquires, positively gleeful at the mere prospect.

"Uhh, yeah," Stiles says. "Yesterday."

"Fucking _finally_!" Erica exclaims, hugging Stiles so tight that he can't breathe.

"I take it you knew about my feelings for him, too?" the boy croaks, patting her awkwardly on her back.

"Duh. It was pretty damn obvious, especially if you knew what to look for. I figured it out when we were coming out of the theatre from seeing _Scream 4_ ," Erica explains, proud of herself. "Plus, I think I noticed you checking Derek out when he was working out before one of our training sessions, which made a whole lot more sense after the movies."

"Great…" Stiles murmurs, embarrassed.

"So, did you have sex?"

"What? No!" Stiles denies vehemently, realising that his locker door is still open and slamming it shut for emphasis.

Erica is unrepentant. "Why do you smell so much like Derek then?"

"We just fell asleep together on my sofa, okay? That's why."

Erica pulls a face that makes it clear to Stiles that she doesn't really believe him. "Whatever you say."

"I'm telling the truth!"

"Sure you are."

Stiles huffs exasperatedly and walks away toward his first class of the day, grudgingly smiling when he hears Erica cackling behind him.

* * *

Danny manages to avoid the rest of the pack all morning. He sits apart from them in all the classes they share, especially the betas, because he doesn't want them to call him out on what he did last night before he can tell them himself. From the not at all subtle side-eye Jackson gives him all through English class, Danny knows that his best friend already suspects what he and Peter got up to after Danny asked him to go home. It probably doesn't help that Danny can't really walk properly right now, not with how hard Peter had held him down and fucked him.

It went on for _hours_ because Peter apparently possesses unfathomable stamina. Danny lost count of the amount of times the beta had made him come, and the whole time Peter didn't even seem close to losing it himself. It was only when he'd fucked Danny into the fourth hour that he finally brought things to an end, burying himself as deep as he could inside Danny's poor hole and filling him up.

Needless to say, Danny took a _very_ long shower before leaving for school.

A small distraction comes during his last class before lunch, which he shares with Stiles, Erica and Isaac. Again he sits well apart from them, but he is still close enough to hear when Erica begins teasing Stiles about 'getting some'. Danny keeps listening and watches the trio out of the corner of his eye as he feigns looking something up in his Chemistry textbook, eventually deducing that Stiles and Derek have finally got their heads out of their asses and got together. Danny is very happy for the other boy, isn't saddened by this news like he probably would have been right after their date because he has Peter now. They've both caught their own sexy-as-hell Hale.

When the lunch bell rings, Danny knows he won't be able to put off seeing his new friends any longer, which is unfortunate. Even with the thorough cleaning he'd given himself after Peter fucked him silly, he has already learned enough about werewolves to be sure that Peter will still be all over him, the scent of his sweat and come reeking from his body most likely for days to come. Danny really doesn't want to face the judgement he is sure he will receive for his choice in bed partners, but the longer he puts it off, the worse it will be

And so Danny reluctantly leaves the lunch line with his full tray, scans the cafeteria for the pack and locates them gathered around a table in the back corner. When he begins walking toward them, it feels like a death march.

He can almost hear the bell tolling for him.

Lydia is the first to see him. "There you are!" she says by way of greeting, patting the free seat next to her.

Danny takes it, sets his tray down and looks up at where Jackson sits nearly directly in front of him. The beta's expression can only be described as constipated.

"So, you're still alive," Jackson observes.

Danny scoffs. "Obviously."

"Why wouldn't you be alive?" Lydia asks curiously, eyes flicking back and forth between both boys.

"No reason."

"So you're not gonna tell them, huh?" Jackson sneers.

His tone catches the attention of everyone else at the table. They all turn to look silently at the trio and wait for more, like the rapt audience of the hottest movie of the year.

"I didn't think it was really any of their business," Danny says, nibbling on a carrot stick.

"I dunno. You hooking up with another member of the pack seems like it should be, at least peripherally."

"Wait, what?" Lydia blurts out, glancing around the table. "Everyone but Derek is here, and we all know _he's_ already taken."

"Yeah, he is," Erica cajoles from a couple of seats down, where Stiles sits next to her. She elbows him playfully in the ribs and laughs when he shoves her back.

"Who did you hook up with?" Lydia asks Danny, ignoring the blonde.

"No one," the boy fibs.

Jackson doesn't let it go, though. "You're ashamed."

"I am not!"

"If you weren't, you'd have no problem telling everyone," Jackson points out.

Danny sighs, aware of what his friend is doing. He had really enjoyed last night with Peter and still plans on seeing him again, but Danny _does_ feel some shame. Which is stupid, he tells himself. He refuses to feel that way and sends a glare Jackson's way before addressing their onlookers.

"I had sex with Peter last night," he says, projecting confidence into his voice.

As Danny expected, everyone's faces twist with revulsion and judgement, but he doesn't let the shame creep up on him again. "Yeah, yeah, say what you want."

"Dude, he's _ancient_!" Erica exclaims.

Isaac mimes gagging.

"34 isn't 'ancient'," Danny rebuts, annoyed now.

"It totally is…"

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Lydia asks him, expression concerned now. She lowers her voice, even though the many werewolves at their table will all still be able to hear her clearly. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"What? _No_!" Danny denies, offended on Peter's behalf. He isn't sure why he feels such a strong need to defend his new lover, but he does and can't stop the words from spilling from his lips. "It was completely consensual, thank you very much. And not that anyone deserves to know this, but it was fucking _amazing_. I trust him. I know he's hurt some of you in the past," Danny looks specifically at Lydia, "but I believe he's changed. He wasn't in his right mind then anyway, and several of you have hurt people in this pack yourselves. If any of you have a problem with me and Peter, I suggest you get over it. Stiles is also seeing someone older now and I don't hear any of you giving him crap for it. Granted, not _as_ old, but still. I'm happy, and that should be enough, so just accept it because I'm seeing Peter again tonight and that's that."

The lunch table is quiet for an uncomfortably long time after Danny finishes speaking. He picks at his food until conversation gradually resumes around him, thankfully none of it revolving around him and Peter. He kicks a contrite-looking Jackson beneath the table and, when Jackson kicks him back, they share a smile which lets Danny know that everything is cool between them.

The others will come around later. He hopes.

* * *

Once school has let out for the day, Stiles heads straight home because he wants to see Derek. He also wants to make sure that the alpha hadn't gone to confront Peter without him. He shouldn't have—he promised Stiles that morning that he wouldn't—but Stiles isn't ignorant of Derek's occasional impulsiveness. The werewolf was very angry last night, rightfully so, and that anger could very well have boiled over while Stiles wasn't there to keep it in check.

When he walks through his front door, Stiles immediately finds Derek waiting for him in the foyer. His hair is damp, presumably from a very recent shower, and he wears a pair of jeans and a red long-sleeved henley that hugs his torso in all the right places. Stiles is distracted from bringing up Peter by the sight of Derek's chest hair peeking out of the deep V of the collar. He wonders if this is how it's always going to be. Will he turn into a speechless idiot every time he sees Derek? He wants to reach out and touch him, feel that he is real, but habit has him holding back. It's only when Derek touches him first, a hand on the side of his face, that Stiles remembers he _can_ touch Derek.

"You okay?" the alpha asks. "You've just been staring for a while."

"Uhh, yeah. You're just distracting," Stiles tells him.

Derek grins. "I am, am I?"

"Incredibly."

"Well, I'd say I'm sorry, but that would be a lie."

Stiles is suddenly unsure of his footing. Sure, he can touch Derek and he doesn't think Derek would take issue, but then what? What are the boundaries? Neither of them has really said what they want out of this…whatever this is. Is it a relationship? Are they boyfriends, or will they jump straight to mates? Stiles still can't quite wrap his head around what that word means, so he guesses they are in desperate need of a frank discussion.

"C'mon," he says, leading the way into the sitting room. He sits down at one end of the sofa and twists to face the other, where Derek obligingly sits. "We need to talk."

The alpha shifts worriedly. "What about?"

"It's nothing bad," Stiles reassures him. He goes on to explain the questions he had just thought of. "So…yeah," he says when he is done, "I think we have some stuff to figure out."

"Well, if you want to label it, I think 'boyfriends' is fine for now," Derek suggests, looking calmer now. "As for…everything else, is sex something you want out of this?"

"Eventually, yeah," Stiles says, feeling his face heat up. "I mean, you've seen yourself. I definitely want to get _all_ up in that, but uh, I dunno how to, y'know, _get there_. I've never done anything like this before, in case you didn't know."

Derek smiles softly. "I figured."

"God, that's embarrassing."

"You shouldn't be embarrassed about being a virgin, Stiles."

Said boy just covers his face with his hands and groans until Derek pulls them away again.

"I'm serious," the werewolf says. "There's nothing wrong with it. Plenty of people don't have sex for the first time until well into their twenties, and some even later than that. You shouldn't let anyone make you feel ashamed. I think it's a concept people put too much stock in."

"You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" Stiles asks, just to make sure.

"With everything you know about me, do you think I'd be the type to do that?"

Stiles hums thoughtfully. "I guess not."

"I wouldn't ever say anything to deliberately hurt your feelings, but I guess I just don't see the point in lying. It doesn't really help anything."

"Fair point. You're not a virgin, though." Stiles winces as soon as he says the words, because Kate is not someone good to bring up at a time like this.

But Derek doesn't get angry. His face shutters briefly but then returns to normal as he takes it in stride. "That's true, I'm not," he concedes, still holding Stiles' hands in his own, "but I've never been with another guy. I've never been interested before. I've also only had sex a handful of times, and those times all happened years ago."

"Really?" Stiles asks disbelievingly.

"Yes, Stiles. Really."

Stiles opens and closes his mouth several times before finding something to say. "But…you're _you_. I doubt no one else has ever been interested."

"There have been some people, sure, but I never slept with any of them."

"Why?"

"Casual sex just isn't something I want," Derek answers, his eyes clouding over with memories it's obvious he doesn't want to relive. Stiles tries to tell him that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't have to keep going, but Derek does anyway. "I don't judge anyone else for it," he explains. "As long as everyone is consenting, they can do whatever they want with their bodies for all I care, but I need a connection. I did try a couple times, but I couldn't go through with it, and after how Kate used me and spat me out, there was no way I was letting anyone close enough to even have a _chance_ of a connection forming. So yeah, that's why. It's just been me since Laura and I left after the fire."

"Oh…" Stiles is stunned by how transparent Derek is continuing to be with him. He had assumed that, after the adrenaline of the night before had worn off, Derek would re-erect the protective walls that Kate Argent had helped him build. He thought it would be like pulling teeth to get anything out of the alpha, but no. Derek keeps surprising him. He hopes he never stops.

"Do you feel that connection with me?" Stiles asks tentatively.

Derek's voice is soft. "You already know I do."

"So, a bit later down the line, you'd be okay with us, y'know, doing it?"

"Yes."

"Well how 'bout that." Stiles smiles, pleased. "So, what're your boundaries and stuff? I don't wanna do anything that would make you uncomfortable."

Derek shrugs. "I'm not a big fan of PDA. Holding hands, hugging and small kisses are fine, but anything else I don't want to do in public."

"I can get down with that."

"What about you?"

"Pretty much the same, I guess. I don't really know. Again: haven't done this before."

"Alright. We'll figure it out as we go."

"Yup. So you don't have a problem with me like, touching you and stuff?"

Derek chuckles. "Not really. How about this? Let's just say now that you can always feel free to touch me whenever you want, and if on the odd chance I don't want you to, I'll tell you then. There are days sometimes when physical contact isn't something I want—from anyone—but they're getting rarer."

Stiles scoots a bit closer so that their knees touch. "I get it."

Following a few moments of silence, Derek seems to shake off the air of sadness that surrounded him and returns to his previous reserved-but-friendly demeanour. "Was that everything you wanted to talk about?"

"I think so, yeah. Have you been to see Peter yet?" Stiles asks.

"No. I said I'd wait for you to finish school, remember?"

"Just making sure."

"D'you want to go find him now?"

Stiles nods and, after writing a note for his dad in case he wakes up before he and Derek get back, they leave the house again.

* * *

"Do you know where he would be?" Stiles asks from the passenger seat of the Camaro.

"Not conclusively," Derek responds, stopping at a red light. "He usually just shows up. I don't know where he goes in between annoying me."

"I might have an idea."

The uncertainty in Stiles' voice makes Derek look at him. The teenager is picking at his cuticles and staring out the front windshield. Something is obviously troubling him. "What is it?"

"I might know where Peter is. If not now, then later."

"I'm all ears."

Stiles glances at Derek, and the look in his eyes has Derek bracing himself. "I think he'll be at Danny's," Stiles says.

Derek frowns. "Why would he be there?"

"Umm…"

Derek waits patiently, pulling over to the side of the road to idle when the light has gone green. It doesn't take long for Stiles to crack.

"Apparently Peter and Danny are a thing now. Like, romantically. Maybe."

" _Maybe_?" Derek demands, eyes wide as he twists in his seat. "How do you know that?"

Stiles relays the conversation that had taken place over lunch. The alpha listens and is both sickened and fascinated by the sheer size of his uncle's gall. Just when Derek thinks it can't possibly get any bigger. "Well, I guess I'll add that to the list of questionable things Peter has done recently."

With a sigh he starts the car again. He doesn't know where Danny lives, so he relies on Stiles' directions to get them there. When they arrive, Danny's car is in the driveway, which is a good sign, but there will be no way to know whether Peter is already there as well until Derek gets closer to the building. He and Stiles get out of the Camaro and approach, Derek taking the lead. He can hear a couple of heartbeats inside, but that isn't telling of anything. He hears no talking, so the second heartbeat could belong to one of Danny's parents.

"Should we ring the bell?" Stiles asks when they reach the front door.

"Sure."

A few seconds later, Derek hears footsteps coming down stairs and then the door is pulled open.

"Oh, hi, guys," Danny greets them, looking nervous.

Derek idly observes that the boy isn't wearing a shirt and his neck, chest and abs are a patchwork of different bites and bruises, each one made in the name of pleasure. He looks away from the marks and focuses as best he can on Danny's face because he really doesn't want to be reminded that _Peter_ was the one who made them.

Stiles speaks before Derek can, his tone non-judgemental. "Is he here?"

Danny shakes his head. "No. He wanted to get talking to you two out of the way first."

"Where?"

"He said he'd wait at the station. Then he's coming here."

"And that's what you want?" Derek asks the boy.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I like him and I believe him when he says he likes me," Danny argues. "Is that everything?"

"Yeah, that's everything."

"Just don't kill him. We have plans later. _Big_ plans. I need his dick still attached to the rest of him."

Derek's stomach riles. "Did you have to say that?"

"What? It's a very nice dick."

"I really didn't need to know that…" Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and laments the shit he has to put up with. It figures that Peter's irreverence and sass would rub off on Danny—and _that_ is a mental image he could've happily spent his entire life without. "I'm making no promises," he says, lowering his hand again. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

"There's no point in teaching someone a lesson if they're not gonna be alive to learn from it, is there?" Danny counters, a challenging eyebrow raised.

"Touché."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Stiles says, grabbing Derek's hand and dragging him away.

Danny waves them off and then closes the door.

"So, to the station next?"

Derek makes a frustrated sound. "Seems that way."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Derek walks down into the abandoned train station he had called home for the past few weeks of his life to find Peter waiting for him in the middle of it, just like Danny said. The beta has his arms crossed over his chest and looks particularly smug when he sees Stiles coming down the steps behind Derek, which just causes all of the rage Derek had been suppressing to surge back to the surface. He doesn't stop when he reaches the bottom of the steps. Instead, he keeps walking forward with his eyes turning red and punches his uncle as hard as he can right on the nose before the beta can even think of getting a word in.

There is a cracking sound as Peter reels back, and when he raises his head again Derek can tell that he has broken the older man's nose. Good.

"Well that was a particularly pissy greeting, even from you," Peter drawls. His usual tone doesn't quite come through because his broken nose makes his words come out sounding funny, like he has a bad cold.

"If I were you I'd drop the attitude," Derek warns, eyes still glowing.

Stiles steps up next to him and grabs his hand, rubbing a thumb back and forth over the back of it in an effort to calm him down. It works, Derek's anger receding slightly, but he doesn't allow his expression to change at all. He wants Peter to think he is still furious and could snap at any moment, wants him feeling unbalanced and unsure of his safety because that was just how he'd made both him and Stiles feel the night before.

"So, I take it you're mad about what I did?" Peter enquires, groaning as he snaps his broken nose back into place. "I was hoping you'd've had enough time to cool off, but I guess not."

"You really think this is something I could just 'cool off' from?!"

"No, but like I said, I hoped."

"You're an asshole."

"Guilty." Peter smirks, pulling up the hem of his grey T-shirt to wipe the blood from the lower half of his face.

"Why did you go about things this way?" Stiles asks, curious despite himself. "Why not just talk to both of us or something? Why play games?"

Peter smirks, dropping his shirt. "I could have, but where would the fun be in that?"

Stiles sighs. "And the kidnapping?"

"I knew the only way Derek would stop being an emotionally constipated idiot would be if he thought you were in danger."

"Again, you could've just talked to us. You didn't have to rope other people into your games either."

Peter laughs, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh please. I wouldn't be me if there wasn't a little mischief involved."

"I should kill you right now," Derek seethes, taking a step forward. He would walk even closer to his uncle, maybe even back him up against a wall to really hammer home his point, but Stiles stops him. The boy's smaller hand tightens around his, still keeping him from losing his cool and doing something he would likely regret further down the line.

"And yet you haven't."

" _Stiles_ is the only reason I haven't."

"Why thank you, Stiles," Peter says unctuously.

"He's the only reason you're still breathing right now after everything you've done," Derek rants, using their joined hands to pull Stiles behind him, hiding him from Peter. "Messing around with other people's lives, kidnapping my mate and making him genuinely terrified for his life. _Again_. Not to mention sleeping with someone who isn't even half your age! What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was just having some fun with you two," Peter defends, unimpressed.

"And Danny?" Stiles interpolates.

"What? A recently back-from-the-dead ex-alpha can't like someone now?"

Derek snarls. "I saw the marks all over his body."

"We both enjoy rough, kinky sex. Sue us."

"He's sixteen!"

"So? So's Stiles. If you're really going to talk about consent and all that jazz, then what are you doing with him?" Peter counters.

"That's different!"

"How?"

"For one, I'm not sleeping with him yet," Derek practically shouts, fed up with his uncle's mind games. "I actually have permission to date him from his dad, the _sheriff_. I've earned his trust. I'd never play with Stiles' feelings like that. And lastly, eight years isn't as much of a difference as _eighteen_."

"You _do_ still have the emotional maturity of a sixteen-year-old. Maybe even younger."

"Now is not the time to test me, Peter…"

"Fine, fine, I'll stop 'testing you', as you put it, but I'm not stopping seeing Danny. I'm not playing with his feelings. I mean it when I say that I like him. Maybe it won't last for long, but who knows? I want to find out where it leads."

"If you come anywhere near Stiles ever again…" Derek says menacingly, leaving Peter to fill in the blank.

"I get it," Peter responds insouciantly. "Is that all?"

"Almost."

Peter tries to speak again, no doubt to say something else smart or taunting, but Derek doesn't let him. He rips his hand free of Stiles' and punches the beta a second time, using even more force. Peter is knocked over and cradles his now-broken jaw on the dirty ground. He wisely doesn't engage again, and Derek, as satisfied as he is ever going to be, spins on his heel and walks out of there, trusting Stiles to accompany him. The teenager lingers for a few seconds but then does so, staying quiet until they are back in the car and Derek has started the engine.

"D'you feel any better?" Stiles asks him softly.

"A little," Derek admits, a vindictive smile creeping onto his face.

"Are we gonna do anything about him and Danny?"

"D'you think we should?"

Stiles hums. "Let's leave it for now. But at the first sign of trouble…"

"He's dead."

"Agreed."


	16. Burying the Hatchet

_\- Thursday, May 5th, 2011 -_

An hour after confronting Peter, Derek stands in the Stilinskis' kitchen and watches Stiles assemble a lasagne. He had offered to help when he'd finished washing his uncle's blood from his hands in the bathroom upstairs and walked in on Stiles bustling about gathering all he'd need, but Stiles wouldn't hear of it. The most the boy had let him do was to turn on the oven to pre-heat, which he had double-checked as soon as Derek was done. It's obvious that Stiles is quite the control freak when it comes to the kitchen, which Derek has no problem with, considering that he isn't that good a cook himself. It's actually quite endearing, and he looks on with a soft smile on his lips as Stiles shoves on a pair of black oven gloves and carefully slides the lasagne onto the middle tray in the oven.

"And now we wait for forty minutes," Stiles says, tossing the gloves onto the counter again.

"Your dad'll be up by then, right?"

"Should be." Stiles checks the time on his phone. "He has another shift in a couple hours."

Derek hums sympathetically. "He works hard."

"Yeah…"

Derek picks up on the thread of sadness in Stiles' voice and guesses that the boy is thinking about how little time he and his dad spend together these days. It has to be even less than it used to be, now that Stiles is tangled up in the pack. Derek blames himself for a second, as he has been wont to do for years, but then he shakes the old habit off because it isn't actually his fault. When it comes down to it, the fault lies with Peter for biting Scott, but Stiles chose to remain in the pack and Derek won't try to change his mind.

Especially not now.

"So…what do we do until then?" Stiles asks him, his sadness replaced by a cheeky grin.

"I don't know," Derek replies. He can guess, though.

The grin still on his face, Stiles grabs the alpha's hands and draws him closer, backing himself up against the counter. He sweeps the oven gloves aside and hops up onto the countertop before pulling Derek to stand in between his legs.

"Hi," he giggles, releasing Derek and resting his forearms on his shoulders.

"Hi," Derek echoes, his hands coming to rest on the tops of Stiles' rangy thighs. "Someone's feeling confident."

"Yeah, well." Stiles threads his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Derek's head, his cheeks turning red. Derek's eyes become lidded, pleasure zinging down his spine when he feels Stiles' short nails scratching lightly against his scalp. "I've finally got you," the boy says, "so you better believe I'm gonna cling on tight. There's no way I'm letting you get away now."

Derek is amazed by how easy things are between then already. Never did he think that, if by some miracle he and Stiles were to ever get together, he would be so comfortable around the boy basically right away. But here he is, having absolutely no problem with Stiles touching him and touching Stiles in return, with sleeping next to him. Even though it was on a sofa instead of in a bed, the previous night's sleep was the best Derek had got in years.

Having Stiles in his arms…it was perfection.

He can't believe that his past self ever tried to deny him this, that he ever thought this could be something bad and painful. He still has insecurities—they won't be entirely banished overnight—but he thinks he might actually be able to trust himself to hold Stiles' heart in his hands. All of his fears that he would end up hurting Stiles like Kate hurt him evaporate every time Stiles looks at him. Derek can almost see himself through Stiles' eyes, see the man that Stiles sees and wants to give himself to. The image isn't crystal-clear yet, but he already dove headfirst into this adventure with Stiles, and he knows that, if he lets it, the image will get clearer the longer they are together, the more times Stiles looks at him like he is someone worth loving.

"Like I'd even think of going anywhere," Derek murmurs.

"Good. 'Cause I'm gonna keep you."

Derek allows himself to be pulled forward into a kiss. It feels strange at first, because Stiles is taller than him while sitting on the counter and he has to tilt his head up, but it's no less nice. He moves his hands from Stiles' thighs, skating them up his waist, his ribs and neck until he cups the sides of Stiles' face, carefully guiding him into the best angle to deepen the kiss. It's still obvious that the boy is inexperienced, but Derek has no issue helping him learn and then reaping the rewards.

Just as arousal has started to simmer in his gut, Derek hears the doorbell ring loudly from the foyer. He had been so preoccupied with everything Stiles, in the exquisite taste, feel and smell of him, that he failed to notice someone coming to the front door. He steps backward when Stiles pushes at his chest and is unable to mask his disappointment.

"Don't worry, Sourwolf," the human smirks. His lips are already slightly swollen and Derek has trouble not staring at them. "We'll continue this some other time. I have _plans_ ," Stiles promises, pecking him one last time on the mouth before leaving.

Derek stays in the kitchen and walks with new familiarity to the cupboard that contains the mugs. Before he'd moved in that morning, he still remembered where a lot of things were from the short time he'd hid out in Stiles' bedroom and helped himself to whatever he wanted. He had a lot of free time back then, even more than he has now, so what time he wasn't spending trying and failing to track down the rogue alpha who killed Laura he spent on getting used to the Stilinskis' house. It's almost like muscle memory now as he pulls out a plain cream-coloured mug and puts on a pot of decaf coffee just to keep himself busy. He doesn't listen in on what Stiles is saying to whoever is at the door as he waits for it to be ready, not until he hears the door close and he gets a whiff of a scent he would've been happy never to smell again.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Derek growls when Scott accompanies Stiles into the kitchen.

"Calm down, Der," Stiles soothes, rushing over to him. "He's just here to talk, to apologise to you."

Derek doesn't wolf out, but it's a close thing. He knows the look on Scott's face, contrite yet determined, has seen it directed at him when the beta came to him and told him that he was finally ready to be part of his pack. And then he'd betrayed him, practically spat in his face. Derek recalls the smugness and the derision that had been in Scott's voice after he forced him to bite Gerard and then told him that he'd _never_ be part of Derek's pack, as if having Derek as his alpha was the worst thing he could imagine.

Derek was played once, shame on Scott. He won't let himself be fooled a second time.

"Leave," he commands, his eyes flashing to make it an alpha command.

It nearly works, surprisingly. Scott's inner beta reacts instinctively, cowering away, but he doesn't actually go.

"Derek," Stiles calls, cupping his face and forcing him to look at the human, "I want you to at least hear him out, okay? For me?"

Breathing out sharply through his nose, Derek yields. "Fine."

"Thank you."

Stiles kisses him again to underline his gratitude. Neither one of them pay any mind to Scott's shocked gasp.

When they pull apart, Stiles lowers his left hand to his side and runs his right down Derek's arm to hold his larger hand. Derek doesn't look away from him until Scott speaks.

"So…you guys are, uh, together now?" the beta questions, stunned.

"Yes. Problem?" Derek challenges, glaring.

Scott holds up his palms. "No! No problem. Just wondering!"

"Good."

"Let's move this into the living room," Stiles says, tugging Derek along behind him and trusting Scott to follow them. He and Derek sit together on the sofa while Scott takes the sheriff's armchair, separating himself from the couple.

"How long has this been going on?" Scott asks Stiles. He fidgets under the intensity of Derek's continued disapproving stare. "I didn't even know you were…gay?"

"Bisexual, Scott," Stiles corrects. "Or did you forget about my crush on Lydia?"

Scott scoffs. "Hard to, what with how often you went on about her."

"Pot, meet kettle."

"Huh?"

"You were the same with Allison, you doofus."

"Oh, right. It's just…I'm surprised. Sorry. I didn't mean to assume."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Just because I'm with another guy now doesn't automatically make me gay. It doesn't make Derek gay either. That's some shitty bi erasure there, dude. And pan erasure. And whatever-else-is-in-between erasure."

"You seem to know a lot about this stuff."

"Hey, I did a shitload of research when I realised I didn't just swing one way. Sue me."

Scott pouts. "I said I was sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You're forgiven. Just don't do it again."

Derek remains silent throughout this back-and-forth. It's evident from the banter—and from the fact that Stiles let Scott inside the house in the first place—that the two best friends have made up with each other. Derek wonders when the hell that happened. His confusion must show, because when Stiles glances at him, he displays yet another example of how expertly he can read him by answering the exact question that was just on Derek's mind.

"Scott came here yesterday and asked to talk to me," he says, putting a hand on Derek's leg. "He said he was sorry and I believed him, and he said he was going to talk to you as well today. But then the whole thing with Peter happened, and then the _other_ thing with Peter happened, so I guess I forgot to give you a heads up." He looks sheepish, so Derek puts his hand on top of Stiles' to reassure him that he doesn't begrudge him his lapse of memory.

Scott leans forward in the armchair. "What things with Peter?"

"His unorthodox matchmaking methods. I'll tell you about everything later."

"Oh…okay."

Scott observes them attentively. Derek waits for more questions to come, and the beta doesn't disappoint.

"Does your dad know about you and Derek?" Scott enquires, still looking like he can't quite wrap his head around the mere idea of it.

"Yeah, he does," Stiles confirms. "And we have his permission, before you ask."

Scott nods but his expression is like he is sucking on a lemon. "I'm sorry, but…it's _Derek_."

Said alpha just glares again, while Stiles sighs.

"And?" he says.

"It's just, a couple weeks ago I didn't think you two even _liked_ each other. He's all broody and _grr_ ," he holds his hands up and curls his fingers in a silly imitation of claws, "and I thought you annoyed the shit out of him. I mean, I know you already said you forgave him for jumping to conclusions on who the kanima was and going after Lydia, and I knew you were in his pack so I guessed you didn't _hate_ each other, but…this is just weird."

"Well, you've missed a lot lately," Stiles says simply. "Apparently it was obvious to pretty much everyone else."

"Oh."

"Anyway…before you insult Derek again and end up making him reject your apology before you even have a chance to give it, let's move on to what you're really here for."

* * *

Half an hour later, thanks to Stiles acting as a very effective mediator, Derek and Scott are able to reach a detente. Derek still doesn't really like or trust Scott, but he can tell that the beta genuinely wants to put his previous hostilities aside and try to do better, to _be_ better. It's probably largely because he doesn't want to lose Stiles' friendship, but Derek has reached the point where he will take what he can get. Honestly, it was getting tiring being at odds with Scott. He doesn't need that negativity in his life anymore—all of them have had enough negativity inflicted upon them by outside sources without them tearing each other apart from within.

Plus, the way Stiles looks at him proudly when he agrees to give Scott a chance to prove himself makes Derek sure that he is doing the right thing.

Just after the drone of Scott's motorbike has faded into the distance and Stiles has gone to check on the lasagne, Derek raises his eyes to the ceiling, his keen ears picking up on the sound of movement from the sheriff's bedroom. The older man has apparently finished catching up on his rest.

"Your dad's up," he tells Stiles as he joins him in the kitchen.

"That's great timing," the boy responds, switching off the oven and pulling the lasagne out of it. "Sometimes I even amaze myself."

Derek rolls his eyes affectionately.

"Can you get out some plates, please?"

"Sure."

A minute later, Stiles cuts into the lasagne and transfers three large portions onto the plates that Derek has set out in a row on the counter next to him. Derek's stomach rumbles when he inhales deeply. It smells amazing, not that he expected anything less from Stiles. He has only had the privilege of sampling the teenager's cooking a handful of times after pack training sessions, but he doesn't doubt that basically anything Stiles makes will be delicious.

"How did you learn to cook so well?" he asks, curious.

Stiles considers the question for a moment before answering. "I used to help my mom back when I was younger," he explains quietly, like he is sharing one of his most precious secrets with Derek. "Then when she died, my dad wasn't up to cooking, so it was either I learn to do it all by myself or we basically live off takeout. And that wasn't happening on my watch, not with my dad's heart."

Derek frowns worriedly. "Does he have a weak heart?"

"Not really, but you can never be too careful. He has a dangerous enough job as it is, so as much as he doesn't like it, I'm not risking anything else taking him away from me."

Derek understands. He'd felt the same way about Laura after the fire, and even after everything the beta has done, he feels the same way about Peter now. He doesn't offer any words of comfort, just rubs Stiles' back and pours himself a cup of the coffee he'd brewed before Scott arrived. It's lukewarm now, so he puts it in the microwave for thirty seconds to bring it back up to a more enjoyable temperature. By the time the device beeps to announce that it is finished, Derek hears the bathroom door open on the first floor and then the sheriff comes down the stairs. He turns to face the doorway so that he can see him coming.

"Hey, son," the sheriff greets Stiles when he enters dressed in his uniform. He nods at Derek and notices the beverage in his hand. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yeah, but it's decaf."

"Damn."

"I can put on another pot of the good stuff if you want."

The sheriff nods. "That'd be great."

While Derek busies himself with that, Stiles and his dad take all three plates of lasagne through to the dining room. When the coffee maker is done, Derek pours another mug, calls through to ask how the sheriff takes his coffee and leaves it alone when the sheriff replies that he likes it black. Stiles returns to the kitchen to grab himself something to drink, just a glass of water this time, and then together they join the sheriff in the dining room.

Derek sets the sheriff's coffee down next to his plate at the head of the table and receives a grateful, "Thank you," as he takes his place to the sheriff's left, the same seat he occupied the last time the three of them were here. Instead of sitting opposite him, though, Stiles now sits opposite his dad, to Derek's left, and the three of them tuck in to their dinner—or breakfast, in the sheriff's case.

Derek stays quiet throughout most of it, thinking.

It's odd. He hasn't had a proper family dinner in a long time, and he doesn't know how he feels about it. He casts his mind back and thinks that the last time was probably the evening before the fire, when he'd eaten quicker than usual and left early to see Kate. It isn't a good memory, so he seals it back in the box that holds all the memories involving that murdering bitch and tries to actually participate in the conversation that is happening between Stiles and the sheriff about Stiles' day at school. It's still strange to have a sit-down like this, but he'll have time to get used to it because he gets the impression that this is something the sheriff intends to have them do quite frequently, probably whenever his job will allow it.

Derek actually looks forward to the normalcy, the quiet domesticity.

* * *

Danny is sitting on his bed, catching up on the three episodes of _Desperate Housewives_ he missed in the excitement of the past couple of weeks. He is only half concentrating on what is happening on his television screen, though. He focuses the rest of his attention on listening for sounds outside and on watching his open window out of the corner of his eye, waiting for any sign of Peter's arrival. It's ridiculous how much he already wants the man to be around, when just last week he would have avoided him at all costs. There is a magnetic pull between them that Danny can't fight. He doesn't want to fight it either, because it just feels so _good_ when they're together.

He knows what his friends think. They think he is crazy, that he is putting himself in danger by fooling around with Peter.

But it isn't just fooling around.

No, Danny is sure that it's more than that. If it was just sex—mind-blowing sex, but just sex all the same—then Danny wouldn't be so worried about the state Derek will have left Peter in. He believes that the alpha won't outright kill his uncle, but still…Danny will feel better when Peter is here and he can see that he is alright with his own two eyes.

If it was just sex, then after it was done, Danny wouldn't have slept in Peter's arms as soundly as he did. They wouldn't have talked for nearly a whole hour when they woke up early that morning. Peter wouldn't have told him about his wife and child, would never have trusted him with such treasured memories. Perhaps it should have made Danny jealous, listening to his new lover reminisce about the two people who used to mean the world to him, but all Danny could feel was gratitude.

Gratitude for Peter letting him close. Gratitude for the unshakable knowledge that this being more than just a really good lay is true for Peter as well.

Halfway through the current episode of _Desperate Housewives_ , Danny finally sees movement at the window as Peter clambers through it. He presses pause on his TV remote and gets off the bed to welcome him properly, but he stops halfway across his room when he sees the faint smears of blood on the lower half of Peter's face, which is slightly swollen on the left side. There is even more blood staining the bottom of Peter's T-shirt. Derek clearly did a number on his uncle, but Peter doesn't seem to be in too much pain. Or perhaps he is just masking it well. Danny stays standing in place until the werewolf asks him if he is okay.

"I should be asking you that," he responds, moving forward to help Peter out of his bedroom and into the bathroom across the hall. His parents are sleeping, but he doesn't worry too much about making noise because they are the heaviest sleepers Danny knows.

"I'm fine," Peter replies, lisping slightly. "Sore, but I'll be all healed soon."

"You sure? You look like hell."

Peter smiles wryly. "Thanks."

"Oh shut up, you know that's not what I meant."

Danny sits Peter down on the closed toilet lid and crouches down between his knees to get a better look at him. He cautiously cups the beta's face, ready to remove his hands at the slightest sign of pain, but Peter doesn't show any. There is dried blood around Peter's nostrils, which makes it clear that they are where the blood came from. Danny can just imagine Derek breaking his uncle's nose and is slightly annoyed, even though he supposes that Peter had it coming.

Danny was alright to participate in Peter's plan when it was just making Derek jealous, but—especially now that he has had more time to think about it—kidnapping Stiles was going too far. Evidently, Peter has some problems with impulse control which Danny will have to keep in check. He tells the man as much.

"Good luck with that. I like to keep things interesting," Peter excuses, struggling to smile.

"You like to make things difficult. There's a difference," Danny corrects as he stands up again.

He retrieves a maroon washcloth from the linen closet and runs it under the hot tap before twisting out most of the water and returning to Peter. "Let's get you cleaned up," he says softly.

"I can do it," the beta insists, but Danny doesn't let him.

"Nope. You just sit there."

"And look pretty?"

Danny scoffs but can't quite hide his amusement. "Exactly."

"I _always_ look pretty. It's part of being a Hale. I'm by far the most attractive one, though."

Danny hums but doesn't disagree as he gently uses the damp washcloth to clean the blood from Peter's face. He takes great care with the thin streaks across the swollen half of his jaw, which closer inspection leads him to believe is broken. How Peter is managing to talk at all is lost on him because, no matter how good he is at hiding it, it must hurt _a lot_.

"There. All clean," Danny says when the last of the blood is gone. He rinses out the washcloth in the sink until the water stays clear and then tosses it in the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. "Do you wanna borrow a shirt or something?"

Peter's eyes become mischievous. "Or something."

Danny shakes his head. "Not until that jaw's healed. I won't do anything to hurt you."

"Spoilsport."

"We can do stuff later."

"Oh, we will," Peter promises, rubbing a hand over the crotch of his jeans, never breaking eye contact.

"Quit it, Peter," Danny orders, grabbing his wrist and yanking him up off of the toilet lid. He drags him back to his bedroom, shuts and locks the door, and then climbs up on his bed again, bringing Peter with him. "No sex. No teasing. Just healing."

"You could still give me a blowjob," the beta suggests, walking his index and middle fingers up Danny's leg.

"Just. _Healing_. A.k.a. nothing strenuous."

"Yes, sir!" The beta mock salutes and then eyes the TV curiously, as if noticing for the first time that it's switched on.

"You wanna watch?" Danny asks him.

"Might as well."

"Well, it's too late to go out, so… It's a good show."

"What is it?"

Danny explains the premise of _Desperate Housewives_ and gives Peter a brief summary of what has happened so far in the current season, the seventh. Peter seems mildly interested and so, after pulling off his bloody T-shirt and tossing it into the corner of Danny's bedroom, he and Danny settle down against the pillows. They are side by side at first, their shoulders touching, but Danny eventually slips down a bit and ends up curling into Peter's side, enjoying the feel of the beta's warm skin against his forearms and cheek. As great as sex would have been, Danny thinks that this, just being in each other's company, might be even better.

* * *

_\- Friday, May 6th, 2011 -_

At one o'clock in the morning, Stiles lies awake in his bed and stares at the clock on his nightstand. He watches the minutes tick by and longs for sleep, but he can't manage it. He'd been woken up half an hour ago by a nightmare and he hasn't really been able to keep his eyes closed since. He can't remember the details of the nightmare, but it left him with a deep sense of fear that he still can't rid himself of. His muscles ache because he keeps holding them taut in a subconscious cycle. He will realise what he is doing and make himself go lax, but then a few minutes later the ache will be back because he started tensing up all over again.

Stiles releases a long breath and wonders what he should do.

This has happened quite a few times before. It was a frequent occurrence in the months after his mother's passing, but then he had several years in which his sleep was nearly always peaceful. Up until this year, in which he has seen many horrors and it isn't even halfway over yet. Stupid Peter. Stupid Kate, Gerard and Jackson. They're all to blame. Jackson less so, Stiles supposes, but still.

Whenever he is unable to sleep, Stiles usually keeps himself busy. He does some homework or watches TV or a film, or recently he'll do some research into the supernatural. The information he finds may not all be true—most of it probably isn't—but it helps to feel like he is at least somewhat prepared for whatever could hurt him and the people he loves in the future. He contemplates doing more research this night and flings back his sheets, but he doesn't make it to his desk, on top of which his laptop rests with the screen closed.

Stiles stares at his bedroom door, the urge striking him to go out into the hallway and knock on the door to the guest room.

Could he? And more importantly, _should_ he? He can just get on with research like he'd initially planned, but there is another option.

Derek.

The alpha likely wouldn't mind being disturbed if Stiles told him why. He opens his door, creeps out into the hallway and stands outside of the guest room. Should he knock, or should he just go straight in?

Stiles stands there for a long time, weighing his options, getting so caught up in his own thoughts that he startles when the door suddenly swings open. Derek is of course on the other side, and Stiles' mouth drops open when he sees that the alpha is only wearing a pair of tight black boxer-briefs, his wonderfully hairy chest and muscular arms on full display. Stiles feels overdressed—and a little childish—in his red-and-black Spider-Man pyjamas and self-consciously crosses his arms over his chest, as if there is any chance of hiding the white spiderweb design of his loose T-shirt.

"What's wrong?" Derek asks him quietly, seemingly wide awake. "You've been out here for five minutes now."

Stiles bites his bottom lip. "I, uh…"

When he doesn't finish, Derek looks briefly confused but then clarity hits. "D'you want to come in?"

Stiles nods shakily.

When Derek moves aside, Stiles enters the guest room and looks around for any personal touches the alpha may have already added. There aren't any. In fact, the only signs that someone is staying in the room are the rumpled quality of the pale-green sheets on the double bed and the large duffle bag of clothing that sits on top of the dresser opposite.

"Love what you've done with the place," Stiles snarks.

"It's not like I've had a lot of time," Derek defends, smiling. "Besides, most of my stuff is still back in New York."

"Oh. Do you…d'you think you'll go back there?"

Stiles tries to keep his voice even, to keep how he feels about the possibility out of it, but he is unsuccessful. Derek's smile fades and he moves closer to Stiles, close enough for Stiles to feel his warmth. "No. New York never really felt right to me," the alpha answers definitively. "My home is in Beacon Hills."

There is something going unsaid, some underlying meaning to Derek's words that Stiles can't decipher, and he is too tired to bother trying hard. "Okay. Good," he says, relieved.

"Were you having trouble sleeping?"

"A little."

"You want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Stiles explains. "I don't remember what I dreamed about, just that it was bad."

Derek hums, and Stiles realises with a faltering breath that the man must have an intimate understanding of what he is saying.

God…Stiles doesn't even want to imagine the things Derek sees whenever he goes to sleep, all the painful things his subconscious forces him to relive again and again. He laments the unfairness of life, because someone as _good_ as Derek didn't deserve to experience every malicious thing that was done to him. In that moment, standing together in the darkness of the guest bedroom, Stiles can't comprehend the inordinate amount of strength it must take Derek to keep going every day. It was difficult enough for Stiles to get up every morning after his mother died, so it must have taken herculean effort for Derek to go on after most of his family was _murdered_ and he was made to believe that some of the blame was his.

Maybe now that they have each other, they can be each other's strength. Derek certainly gives strength to Stiles—just being in his presence makes him feel safe and like he can handle anything, as long as Derek is there to back him up. Already the remnants of fear that had plagued him ever since he woke up are dissipating, his body no longer shaking.

"C'mon," Derek says suddenly, putting a hand on the small of Stiles' back.

Stiles goes willingly as the alpha guides him over to the double bed. The sheets are thrown to the foot of it, so he just climbs straight onto the mattress and tentatively lies down as Derek walks around to the other side and mirrors him. Derek pulls the sheets up over them both and then asks Stiles to turn away from him, which he does. He is bemused for a few seconds, but then Derek plasters his front to Stiles' back, spooning him, and he catches on and instinctively snuggles back into the alpha's embrace.

Derek's arms are strong around him, grounding. Before he knows it, with Derek's breath on the back of his neck and the masculine scent of him in his nose, Stiles can't keep his eyes open any longer.

He lets sleep claim him, certain that nothing bad can happen while he is with Derek.


	17. Growing Roots

_\- Friday, May 6th, 2011 -_

For the first time in a while, Stiles wakes up feeling like he doesn't have a single care in the world. The sheets are pooled around his waist, but he is still toasty-warm thanks to the alpha werewolf radiating heat against his back and the heavy weight of his arms wrapped around his torso, keeping him close. Stiles snuggles even further back into Derek with a contented sigh, revelling in the peace of the early morning, so different from the unknown nightmare that had plagued him last night. Seeking Derek out for solace was one of the best decisions he has ever made. He wants to wake up like this every morning—and if he has his way, he will.

Derek is still behind him, soft breaths blowing across the back of Stiles' neck, both signs that he remains asleep. Good.

Stiles doesn't want to move yet and hopes that time will permit them both to stay like this for a while. He can't see a clock anywhere, but the light coming through the shut curtains is dim enough for him to guess that he has maybe half an hour before his alarm goes off back in his own bedroom. Maybe a full hour, if luck continues to be on his side.

While that time passes, Stiles picks up Derek's right hand from where it is draped across his stomach and plays idly with his fingers, contemplating the next change he may need to make in his life. One that has been a long time coming.

Now that he and Derek are official and his dad knows and is okay with it, Stiles thinks that perhaps the sheriff should be told about everything that has happened to his son over the past few months. Stiles hadn't let his dad in at first because he didn't want to endanger him, but the strain all of that secrecy put on their relationship was almost too much for it to withstand. Stiles remembers how desolate his dad had seemed when he and Scott stole the police van to try to help Jackson and his dad ended up temporarily losing his job because of it. Stiles couldn't even tell him _why_ , which is something that kills him to this day.

Stiles has been thinking for a few weeks now that maybe keeping his dad unaware isn't the safest option after all. At least if his dad knew, he could be prepared to deal with the bad parts of the supernatural world were they to ever encounter them again. Leaving the sheriff in the dark certainly hadn't helped when Matt Daehler attacked the sheriff's station and made Jackson murder a bunch of deputies while he was a kanima, nearly killing the rest of them as well.

The only thing holding Stiles back is that he hadn't believed Derek would be on board. It wasn't Stiles' secret alone to tell, but maybe, now that Derek has started to become part of their small family and Stiles can't see and doesn't want him leaving anytime soon, the alpha will consent to the sheriff being told about werewolves.

How should he bring it up, though? Maybe—

"You're thinking too loud," comes Derek's raspy voice, startling Stiles. He hadn't realised the man had woken up.

"Sorry," he murmurs, releasing Derek's hand. As comfortable as he still is, he makes himself turn over onto his other side and put a little bit of distance between them so that he can actually see the werewolf properly. He is immediately left wonderstruck by the gorgeously sleep-rumpled state of him.

Stiles knew that Derek was shirtless from the night before, had got embarrassingly distracted by this fact even with how dark it was then. But this state of undress seems even more affecting now that the sun is rising and the room is brighter.

Without anything to hold, Derek has moved onto his back with his right hand tucked behind his head and his left resting atop his bare stomach. He is a vision, the sunlight allowing Stiles to see every detail more clearly. Derek doesn't say anything, just smiles softly when Stiles pushes himself up to lean on his elbow so that he can stare unabashedly in a way he has never dared to before. He figures he's allowed now, so screw it, he's going to.

Derek's evenly tanned skin seems to have even more colour like this, bathed in warm light, completely scarless and unblemished. His dusky nipples are hard, making Stiles want to bite them. He wants to run his fingers through the field of dark hair covering his broad chest, the same for his armpits. Stiles' mind takes him back to the afternoon he'd arrived in the train station and found Derek doing pull-ups, to the fierce desire that had struck him then and strikes him again now. He almost follows through this time, but he manages to hold himself back.

"You okay?" Derek asks him, breaking the minutes of silence.

"Y-yeah," Stiles replies shakily, still staring even as his cheeks heat up.

Derek inhales deeply and his concern melts into understanding. "I can smell it, y'know," he says.

"Smell what?"

"Your attraction to me."

Stiles manages to tear his eyes away from Derek's armpit to look at his face, which is knowing. "Oh. Great."

Derek smirks, but something about his expression remains soft and entirely nonjudgemental. "I take it you see something you like then?"

Breaking their eye contact, Stiles pinches a bit of the bottom sheet between his index finger and thumb and fiddles with it. "I see a lot I like," he admits quietly.

"Like what? I could tell from a spike in your scent that something in particular caught your interest."

Stiles just shakes his head.

"You don't need to be embarrassed," Derek says reassuringly. He lifts his hand from his stomach and covers Stiles' with it, stopping him from pulling at the bottom sheet. "It's just you and me here."

The playful confidence Stiles had felt in the kitchen yesterday evening is all but gone, the two of them being in bed together making everything seem far more real now than it had then, to an almost overwhelming degree. As much as he had talked with Scott about wanting to have sex many times and in many different positions, being so close to making that a reality is alarming and fills him with a sort of anxiousness he didn't think he would experience. He finds it difficult to give voice to everything that was just on his mind, but Derek just squeezes his hand and waits patiently, giving him all the time he needs. A minute later, he is ready.

"You have to promise not to laugh," Stiles says, turning his hand over in Derek's so that their palms touch.

"I promise."

Holding onto his courage, Stiles sits up properly so that he can use his other hand and then swiftly pokes Derek's armpit. "That."

His eyebrows rising on his forehead, Derek glances down at himself before sitting up as well, their hands still connected. He gets over his surprise in a blink and then he just looks grateful for some reason.

"Thank you for telling me," he says, crossing his legs.

"It doesn't, like, weird you out or anything?" Stiles asks tentatively, peeking up at the alpha with his head bowed.

"Not at all."

"Really?"

Derek chuckles. "You're speaking to a werewolf, Stiles."

Said teenager just looks at him quizzically, not getting what he means.

"You know that werewolves have stronger senses than humans and that we rely on them even more as a consequence," the alpha explains, correctly reading Stiles' expression. "Smell is obviously one of the things we rely on a lot to get by, or that we focus on whenever we're doing something like that. You have nothing to feel bad about for wanting the same thing. It's one of the places where a person's scent is strongest, after all, so I understand the fascination. Believe me, I do."

Stiles swallows tightly. "So you'd have no problem with me… _y'know_ …when we eventually… _y'know_?"

"Not at all. In fact, I'll probably be the same way."

"You will?"

"Yes. Besides, everyone has things that do it for them, even without werewolves factoring into it."

"I don't think I really have a _thing_ for that per se. It's more…" Stiles trails off.

"It's more what?" Derek prompts gently.

"It's more that it's you," Stiles continues after a pause. "I think everything about you could affect me like that and make me want to do things I don't think I would want with anyone else."

"Well, we'll cross all of those bridges when we get to them," Derek responds surely. "When we have sex, we'll be doing things properly. The right way. And, as much as it's not something I'm used to anymore, that means we keep communicating with each other. I think we've been doing okay so far, but I never want to do anything to hurt you."

"And I never want to do anything to hurt _you_ ," Stiles echoes, Kate's face appearing in his mind's eye.

"So we keep talking openly like we've been doing." Derek takes a breath and shakes off the atmosphere that has descended upon the room. "Now that we've got that out of the way, what were you thinking about so loudly before? It wasn't to do with us, was it?"

Stiles clears his throat and sits up a little straighter. "No. I was just thinking about my dad, and how he still doesn't know what you guys are."

"You mean werewolves?"

"Yeah…"

"Do you want to tell him?"

Stiles nods jerkily. "I think it would be for the best. And with everything that's happened—and with us being a thing now—I think he deserves to know."

Derek's response is instantaneous. "Okay," he agrees. "We'll tell him."

"You sure?"

"Well, we're both in this for the long haul, right?" Derek enquires, gesturing between the two of them with his free hand.

"Right," Stiles assents. He feels a happy tingling all over.

"Then he should know exactly who his son is in a relationship with."

"When?"

Derek thinks for a moment before responding. "How about we bring it up at the training session this afternoon and decide then? If we're telling your dad, maybe some of the betas will want to tell their parents too, now that things are more settled."

"Scott's coming to this one, right?"

Derek nods. "His first. We'll see if he can behave himself."

"He will," Stiles promises, already imagining what will befall his best friend if he fucks up again. "Anyway, yeah, we can bring it up then."

"Alright."

Stiles returns Derek's smile and feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. He was concerned for no good reason. It seems like he can talk to Derek about almost anything without getting an adverse reaction, which is the antithesis of the Derek that Stiles had met at the beginning of the year. He is grateful to have been allowed this close to the alpha when he has been scarred so badly, and he can't wait to get even closer, to experience everything with him. Soon.

Neither of them has anything left to say, which is good because a few seconds later Stiles hears his alarm going off across the hall.

"Time for school," Derek says, releasing Stiles' hand so that he can get up.

"Unfortunately."

Derek chuckles and gets up with him. As hard as he tries—which isn't very hard, truth be told—Stiles can't keep his eyes from wandering as Derek crosses the room to where his duffel bag is still positioned on top of the dresser. This affords him an exquisite view of Derek's back, which he takes full advantage of, even as his alarm continues to blare obnoxiously through the walls. He traces Derek's black tattoo with his eyes and wants to do the same with his fingers, with his tongue as well. He wants to follow the dip of Derek's spine down to the small of his back and then even lower. Derek's ass is evidently firm and tight, even through the material of his underwear, and Stiles can't help but wonder what it looks like bare.

"Stiles?"

Would Derek let him do that? Let him lick—

"Stiles?"

—and bite his way across those enticing globes of flesh. Maybe dip in between—

"Stiles!"

Jerking out of his fantasies, Stiles finds Derek looking back at him over his shoulder, his mouth twisted into another smirk.

"Are you gonna go shut off your alarm and get ready or…?" the alpha teases him.

Blushing intensely, Stiles bows his head and mutters, "Shut up," as he leaves the guest room. The sound of Derek's laughter follows him, the sound more unrestrained than he has ever heard it before. He knows that he would embarrass himself again and again just to keep Derek laughing like that.

* * *

School is entirely uneventful until lunch. In the cafeteria, Stiles, dressed in red chinos and a black T-shirt, walks to what has now become the pack's table with Isaac in tow. He still doesn't really know what to say to the beta, and the feeling is apparently mutual, but he doesn't let it affect him. He had a wonderful morning with Derek, his classes have gone well so far, and he even managed to avoid getting yelled at by Mr. Harris, so nothing can bring his mood down.

The rest of the pack is already gathered around the table. Isaac breaks away from Stiles to sit at one corner next to Boyd, leaving Stiles to take one of the free seats that are at the other end of the table. He opts for the one right next to Erica, which he regrets as soon as he sits down and she turns to him with a glint in her eyes that has already become familiar. He knows what is coming, and sure enough, before Stiles can even start to eat his lunch, the blonde begins ribbing him about the many lewd things she suspects he and Derek are doing together.

Stiles sighs and ignores her as best he can, a task that is getting easier and easier.

Sooner than he'd thought, Erica stops. He glances at her because this seems unlike her and discovers a shocking amount of hatred on her face.

Luckily, it isn't directed at him.

Looking around for the subject of Erica's ire, Stiles finds Scott walking alone toward them, his nerves obvious.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Erica sneers at him when he reaches the table.

"I was wondering if I can sit with you guys," Scott replies, his eyes flicking briefly away from Erica's to meet Stiles', like he is silently asking for support.

Stiles contemplates giving it. The antipathy the others feel for Scott is his own doing and he should be the one to make it up to them. But on the other hand, how is he supposed to do that if he isn't given a chance? And Stiles has already stepped in once, when he got Derek to hear Scott out yesterday.

"Fuck off, McCall," Jackson chimes in without even looking up.

"Guys," Stiles interpolates before anyone else can add their two cents, "c'mon, let's not be like that."

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Like _what_ , Stilinski?"

"Look: haven't we had enough hate already without hating on each other, too?"

"Like your opinion matters."

"Don't let Derek hear you talking like that," Erica warns the lacrosse co-captain. "I mean, unless you _want_ your throat ripped out—which might actually be fun to see. On second thought, I think you should _definitely_ talk like that around Derek."

"Whatever." Jackson acts like he couldn't care less, but he doesn't say anything else derisive toward Stiles.

Stiles wrests back control of the conversation before it can get out of hand again. "Anyway, as I was saying, I think we should give Scott another chance."

"Really?" Erica asks him, frowning.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He's said he's sorry and I believe him," Stiles explains.

" _I_ haven't heard an apology," Isaac mumbles, his voice still loud enough for human ears to hear.

"Well he's apologised twice, to both Derek and me, and we accepted them."

"Still haven't gotten one myself. I don't think he's even capable." Isaac looks up from the table and straight at Scott, like a challenge.

Scott rises to it. "I'm sorry."

"Don't believe you."

"Okay, it doesn't really matter right now, okay?" Stiles says above whatever Scott tries to say next. "If Scott goes back on his word and ends up screwing one of us over again, believe me, I'll be the first one to kick him to the curb, which he knows. For now, though, let's just eat. We can all talk more this afternoon at your training session."

"Scott's coming to that?" Danny asks, the first words he has spoken since Scott arrived.

"Yes."

"Does Derek know?"

"Of course he does. He's the one who invited him."

"Huh."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Like I said, we've accepted his apologies already."

When the rest of the pack drops the subject and just ignores Scott altogether, Stiles gestures with his hand for Scott to take the last free seat next to him.

"Thanks," Scott says. He is obviously grateful, even if his movements are awkward and wary, like he expects to be met with claws and fangs at any moment.

Stiles pats his friend's shoulder. "No problem, buddy."

* * *

Later that afternoon, Stiles makes a quick detour to the grocery store to pick up some cooking ingredients on his way home. When he has everything in his cart, he makes his way to the self-checkout and, after scanning everything and putting it in a bag on the scale, he pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his chinos. He gets out his bank card but then stops, the card in the slot beneath it catching his attention. He is confused at first because he doesn't remember how it got there, but then the memory comes back to him and he smiles to himself. Getting out the card Derek had given him instead, Stiles uses it for the first time and feels touched because he now knows that the gesture meant even more than he thought it had at the time.

With his purchases in hand, Stiles finally heads home, his good mood from that morning still lingering.

When he arrives, Derek's Camaro is parked out front but his dad's cruiser isn't, which tells him that the sheriff must have had to go into the station at some point during the day. Stiles is slightly worried, as he always is whenever his dad is working, but he puts it out of his mind and focuses on the fact that he and Derek will be alone again.

"Honey, I'm home!" he calls jokingly as he walks through the front door.

"Never say that again," Derek responds from further in the house. Stiles can still hear his mirth in spite of his words.

Entering the kitchen to make a start at preparing the food for after the betas' training session in a couple of hours, Stiles sees that Derek is sitting at the island, barefoot in jeans and a dark-grey henley. He clicks away on Stiles' laptop, scrolling through a list of Google search results.

"What're you doing?" the teenager asks him, apprehensive because his porn isn't exactly well-hidden and a lot of the newer stuff features guys with many similarities to Derek.

"I'm looking for a job," the alpha answers, glancing up. "Another of your dad's conditions."

Stiles moves away, sets his shopping bag down on the side and starts to unpack it. "Are you okay with that?"

"Sure. I need something to do to occupy my time while you're all in school anyway."

"Any luck so far?"

"Some."

Curious, Stiles leaves the shopping spread out on the countertop and goes to look at his laptop screen over Derek's shoulder. "Show me."

"There's this apprenticeship that I think could be a good fit," Derek explains, clicking into Stiles' bookmarks and locating a link that he must have saved earlier. When the pages loads, Stiles sees that it's a website for a local construction company, the same one who built the housing development Peter took him to in the final phase of his matchmaking plan. "It's low level to start with, but it says there's an opportunity for progression afterwards if you do well."

"And with your werewolf strength…" Stiles says approvingly.

"Exactly. Good fit."

"Are you gonna apply?"

"I already have. Now I've just got to wait to hear back from them."

Stiles grins, imagining Derek sweating in a tank top and a tool belt. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Thanks." Derek, apparently finished with the laptop for now, closes it and gets up off of his stool. He stretches, and Stiles gets an answer to the question he'd asked himself the night before:

Yes, he will always be easily distracted when it comes to Derek.

"So what are you making?"

The question snaps Stiles out of his staring and he realises that Derek is no longer stretching and the hem of his shirt is no longer riding up, exposing the happy trail on his abs. "Uhh…" Stiles says dumbly, his mind taking a few extra seconds to reboot. Once it has, he returns to where he'd been unpacking the shopping and stays turned away from Derek to hide his face. "I'm gonna make chicken cacciatore," he reveals, using a knife to cut into one of the packets of chicken breasts he had bought.

"Sounds good to me. Want any help?"

A contrast to the response he'd given just the day before, Stiles accepts the offer. "S-sure."

Over the next half hour, Stiles tells Derek what to do and watches him as much as he can, checking to make sure the alpha is doing things correctly. He only has to give further instructions once, when Derek chops the onions too large, which is a relief. He recalls the few times he and his dad had attempted to cook together, which had all ended in unmitigated disaster. The sheriff would probably be able to manage well enough were Stiles not there to cook for him, but truth be told he doesn't possess much skill. And what skill he _does_ have is rusty, thanks to Stiles' mother preparing the vast majority of their meals before she fell ill and Stiles quickly taking over after she passed away.

"Now we leave it to cook for fifty minutes," Stiles says, putting the lids on the large saucepans they are using. "We have enough time, right?"

"Just," Derek replies, checking his phone. "I told the betas it was at six."

Stiles contemplates what they could do in the meantime. His mind is yet again filled with dirty thoughts similar to the ones he'd had that morning, but he pushes them aside. There will be better opportunities to start that particular venture another day. Probably someday soon, if Stiles gets his way, because, despite his inexperience and insecurities, he doesn't think he can wait much longer to get in Derek's pants.

For now, Stiles searches for something better suited to the timeframe they have and comes up with educating Derek on everything pop culture.

"Have you ever watched _The Vampire Diaries_?" he asks the werewolf.

Derek frowns as he thinks. "I don't think so. Why?"

Grabbing the alpha's hand, he drags him through to the living room, makes him sit down on the sofa and then begins searching through the rows of DVDs that are in the rack off to the left, amongst which should be the first season. "Because, Sourwolf, I'm gonna make you watch it with me. We need to get you up to date on my references."

"What's it about?"

"Two vampire brothers who both fall in love with the same teenage girl."

Derek makes a scornful noise. "That sounds…"

"Shitty, I know. It can be ridiculous at times, but it's actually pretty good. Plus I think you'll get a kick out of the second season when werewolves are introduced."

Derek just sighs.

"You can point out all the things they got wrong," Stiles insists happily, hoping to tempt him into agreeing.

It works, and Derek acquiesces with an exasperated, "Fine. But we only have time for one episode."

"Just wait, Sourwolf," Stiles says, putting the first disc into the DVD player beneath the TV and joining him on the sofa. "You'll be hooked in no time."


	18. Having a Heart-to-Heart

_\- Friday, May 6th, 2011 -_

Danny stands by himself in his kitchen, his head tipped back as he drinks the dregs of a can of Dr Pepper. His purple T-shirt strains across his chest and the bicep of his raised arm as he takes a final swallow and lowers the can from his lips, which he licks to make sure he doesn't miss a drop. He washes out the empty can and throws it into the recycling before glancing at the silver fridge which stands in one corner, wondering whether he should get something to eat as well. No, he tells himself after a few seconds, he doesn't want to ruin his appetite for whatever food Stiles will bring to the training session later that afternoon.

Leaving the kitchen, Danny takes the stairs to the first floor, enters his bedroom and sits at his desk. His computer is switched on to an essay that's due the following week but which he has yet to complete, but he doesn't even glance at it. His mind is elsewhere, as it has been basically all day.

Danny can't stop thinking about what happened that morning, when he was woken up early by Peter thrashing about next to him in bed. Danny hadn't known what was going on at first, sleep making his thoughts slow, but then he'd realised that the werewolf was having a nightmare and swiftly tried to wake him up by calling his name, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. This turned out to be a mistake, because the next thing Danny knew, he was pinned down in an entirely unsexy way and Peter was looming over him, his eyes electric-blue and so full of rage that Danny was scared of him for the first time since they started seeing each other in a romantic context.

Peter hadn't even looked like he was fully aware of what he was doing.

Eventually the man had appeared to come back to himself. His eyes dimmed to their human colour, he loosened his grip on Danny and his face became filled with remorse, but Danny only saw a flash of it before the werewolf was gone from the bed and climbing through the window to get away from what he had nearly done.

Danny was left reeling and hadn't been able to make himself move until his alarm went off an hour later, at which point he went through his morning routine and most of the school day in a daze. He only made an effort to act like he was alright during lunch, but he could tell by the end of it that his efforts weren't enough and his quietness hadn't gone unnoticed.

He wants to go back to how blissful he'd felt the night before, when he and Peter had fallen asleep together shortly after deciding to watch _Desperate Housewives_ from the beginning using Danny's season boxsets. But in order to do that, Peter has to show his face again so that they can talk about what happened, figure out a way for it not to happen again and then try to move past it together.

Danny has no way of getting in contact with Peter because he doesn't have his phone number. In fact, Danny doesn't know if Peter even has a phone. The beta is still legally dead, so how would he have a contract? Maybe he'd have something prepaid.

Danny puts his head in his hands. "Fuck, this is such a mess…"

"What is?"

Leaping up from his chair, Danny whirls around to face the window and sees Peter perched on the sill, looking entirely relaxed. He wears a white T-shirt that is at least two sizes too small and a pair of dark-grey jeans that look brand-new.

Peter smirks when Danny doesn't say anything. "Cat got your tongue? Or wolf?"

The teenager swallows his surprise. "Where've you been?" he asks.

"Around. Why?"

"Why? Seriously, you're asking me _why_?"

A small crack appears in Peter's facade, revealing that he isn't actually as carefree as he is presenting himself. Danny pounces on this crack. He hopes to exacerbate it and shatter the beta's armour, because if he doesn't, he doesn't see how they can continue whatever this is between them. And Danny would really like to continue it.

"You're gonna pretend that this morning didn't happen?" he questions, making no effort to hide his disappointment. "If you are, then you can just leave again right now."

Peter blinks fast, stunned. "What?"

Danny crosses his arms over his chest. "You heard me. Are you gonna talk to me honestly or not?"

"I don't think there's anything to really talk about," Peter denies. The way he averts his gaze from Danny's says otherwise.

As much as his heart goes out to Peter, as much as he wants to let it go, hug the werewolf tightly and pretend that everything is fine, Danny can't. Or else what happened that morning will probably happen again, and he might not be so lucky next time.

"You could've really hurt me this morning, Peter," he persists. "I think I deserve an explanation for that. An _honest_ one. If you can't or _won't_ give that to me, then I think we're done."

The werewolf stares at Danny for several seconds before dropping his facade altogether. His handsome face becomes guilt-ridden and his posture stiff as he pushes away from the window and sits down on the end of Danny's bed. The teenager is pleased but still unsure where they stand, so he leaves his desk chair, takes the spot to Peter's right and puts a reassuring hand on his knee. "You can talk to me," he says quietly. "You know you can tell me anything and I won't judge you. I haven't held what you did earlier this year against you, have I?"

"No…" Peter mumbles. He doesn't move Danny's hand but he doesn't reciprocate the touch, either.

"Then tell me what happened this morning. You were having a nightmare?"

Peter sighs and clenches his jaw. "I was."

"What was it about?"

Peter is silent for a long time. Danny gives him as long as he needs, and soon he speaks again: "It was about the fire. I've had that dream…God, I don't even know how many times. It's nearly every night."

"I can't even imagine," Danny sympathises, squeezing Peter's leg. It's true—he can't imagine how he would cope if his parents were both murdered in a premeditated house fire.

"It's the same every time," Peter croaks, his hands fisted in the sheets. "I think it happened slower in real life, but in the dream it's always fast. We're eating and everything's fine. My sister and her husband Nick are scolding Cora—that's my youngest niece—about the poor math grade she's just gotten, and I'm talking to my wife, Una. We're discussing plans for the nursery we're building next to our bedroom, and then the whole place goes up in flames. I watch as everyone…" Peter sniffles. "As everyone burns to death—Talia, Nick, Cora, Una and our unborn child. We didn't even know the sex yet. We wanted it to be a surprise… All of them die right in front of me while I'm unharmed and I can't do anything to stop it."

From his nightstand Danny retrieves some tissues and gives them to Peter as tears begin to fall.

"And then the dream deviates from real life and Kate shows up, also unaffected by the flames," the werewolf says. He takes the tissues but balls them up in his hand instead of using them, tears running unbidden down his cheeks to drip onto his T-shirt. "She taunts me and when I try to kill her for what she's done, I'm suddenly in a circle of mountain ash and that's when I burn, too. I usually wake up right when she starts laughing."

Danny shakes from just hearing about it. "That's awful."

"Yeah…this morning, you woke me up early, right as I was about to attack her. That's why I attacked you instead. I was still caught up in the nightmare. As soon as I realised what was going on…"

"You ran," Danny finishes.

Peter nods slowly. He doesn't protest when Danny takes the tissues back and wipes his face for him. "I almost killed you," he whispers, his glistening eyes glued to the wall opposite. "I would have, if it took me any longer to come back to myself."

"It's okay," Danny consoles. He throws the soiled tissues into the dustbin that is in the corner of his bedroom and then urges Peter to move further up the bed. It's a testament to how miserable Peter is that he doesn't make a single wisecrack. He doesn't even try, just allows Danny to position him how he wants. When they are both against the pillows, Danny draws Peter to him so that the beta's head is on his left shoulder and he can stroke his fingers soothingly through Peter's short hair. "I'm sorry you have to relive that," he says, interlocking the fingers of his right hand with Peter's. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You're not mad at me anymore?" Peter asks, tucking himself closer.

"No…I'm not."

"But I still almost killed you."

"I know, but—"

"I'm a monster."

Danny's response is vehement. "No you're not!" he rebuts. He pulls away and gently takes Peter's face between both hands to force their eyes to meet. "You're _not_ a monster."

"But after everything I've done…"

"Yes, you've done some bad stuff," Danny concedes, "but that doesn't define you. It doesn't make me like you any less. You weren't in a good headspace back then, _and_ you were being manipulated by your nurse, whatever her name was."

Peter closes his eyes. "Jennifer."

"Right."

"I still killed Laura."

"Did you know who she was at the time?" Danny asks.

"No. I was lost in my lust for revenge and didn't see who the alpha was until it was too late, but if I'd been stronger, I would've realised sooner. I could've stopped myself and I'd have family left who didn't hate me."

Saddened, Danny strokes his thumbs back and forth across the sensitive skin beneath Peter's eyes and presses his lips to his forehead. "Derek doesn't hate you," he says with certainty. "He doesn't trust you, and if I'm being honest as well, I can't really blame him. Not with your shared history and the methods you used to meddle in his and Stiles' love lives. Just give him time. And if you really want to mend things between the two of you, I think you should tell him everything you just told me. Let your guard down around him, too. He's not unreasonable."

Peter shakes his head, his eyes still shut tight. "I took his sister away from him. He can never forgive me for that, just like I can never forgive myself."

"Just give him the chance. That's all I'm asking."

With one last sniffle, Peter nods this time and breathes out shakily. "Okay…"

"Thank you."

With another kiss to Peter's forehead, Danny tucks Peter's face back into his neck. "Now then, back to what I asked earlier: is there something I can do to help with your nightmares?"

"I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't sleep over here anymore."

It's a dishearteningly real possibility, but Danny isn't willing to just give up that easily. "Maybe if I wake you up earlier when it looks like you're having one?"

"I'll just end up hurting you again," Peter says despondently.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"I'm not willing to take that risk."

Butterflies proliferate in Danny's stomach with the admission that the beta cares for him. "What usually happens if you wake up on your own?"

"I still wake up terrified, but I'm myself," Peter answers, wrapping his arm around Danny's torso.

Danny hums and wracks his brain for a solution. As horrible as it still is, there is only one which could keep both of them relatively happy. "I don't like the thought of you having to go through the whole nightmare every night, but I still want you here as often as we can swing it," he declares. "It's happening way faster than I thought it would, but I want to be around you as much as I can, and that includes the nightmares. Again, I don't like it, but what if I let you wake up on your own? If you never slept over here, you'd have to go through the nightmares anyway. You might as well be here when you do it, and I can be here for you afterwards."

"This isn't what you signed up for."

"No, it isn't," Danny agrees. "But I don't care."

"You really wouldn't mind? I don't want to bother you with my shit."

Danny starts stroking his fingers through Peter's hair again. "You wouldn't be bothering me. I like you, _a lot_ , and I want to be there for you."

Peter takes a moment and then says, "Okay. I'll stay, if you want me to."

Silence reigns for a long time then, neither male feeling the need to fill it with words any longer. Danny stays wide awake, but he gets the impression from how Peter repeatedly goes lax against him and then tenses up that the werewolf isn't far from falling asleep but is keeping himself awake so he doesn't have the nightmare again. Getting in touch with his emotions must have taken a lot out of him.

"Do you want to skip the training session later?" Danny asks him. "We can stay here."

"No," Peter mumbles against the boy's shirt. "I'll go. It'll be a good distraction, and that's just what I need."

* * *

Once the pilot episode of _The Vampire Diaries_ has ended, Stiles and Derek transfer the cooked chicken cacciatore into Tupperware and ready themselves to leave for the training session. They take the Camaro, much to Stiles' delight. After placing the bag of food in the back, he sits in the passenger seat and admires the interior of the car in a way he hadn't been able to the only other time he was there, when Derek had grudgingly entrusted the vehicle to Scott and they'd picked him up when they were hunting the kanima. He admires the sleek dashboard and how comfortable the leather seats are, how it doesn't smell of old fast food like his Jeep.

"Where are we meeting this time?" Stiles asks Derek when he is finished.

"The preserve, in the same clearing as before," the alpha responds, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Are we still gonna use the train station?"

"Maybe."

Content enough with these answers, Stiles fills the silence by switching on the radio. He flicks through the stations until he finds something he likes that isn't immediately met by scorn from Derek, which is tricky. Their musical tastes apparently differ substantially—which isn't entirely unexpected, Stiles supposes. He spends the rest of the journey tapping along to various rock songs.

Once Derek brings the Camaro to a stop, Stiles notes that everybody's vehicles are already there, meaning that he and the alpha are the last to arrive. He carries the food and together they set out to join up with the rest of the pack. The walk to the clearing is longer and more tiring than Stiles remembers it being, but he perseveres and eventually they reach their destination.

"Look who finally made it," Erica says, pushing away from where she leans with Boyd against a tree.

"Took you two long enough," Isaac adds, a couple of paces away from the blonde.

Erica's red lips curl into a salacious smirk. "I wonder why…"

"No, we didn't get caught up having sex," Stiles denies with a roll of his eyes.

"That's disappointing."

Isaac frowns at her. "Why?"

"Because I wanted the dirty details. _Duh_."

Isaac looks back and forth between Derek and Stiles and then wrinkles his nose. "Eww."

"Love you, too," Stiles smiles mockingly, patting him condescendingly on the head on his way past.

The others are elsewhere in the clearing. Jackson and Lydia are off to the left, talking quietly to each other about something. Scott is by himself, looking distinctly uncomfortable but with his head still attached, so Stiles offers him a wave and then leaves him to it. Finally, Danny and Peter are on the right, sitting at the base of a tree. Stiles does a double-take when he sees the position they are in. Danny has his back against the bark and Peter is between his legs, his back to Danny's front. Danny's arms rest over the beta's flat stomach. Both are quiet, but there is a level of intimacy present that Stiles didn't expect to see. Maybe there is more to their relationship than he thought.

"Okay, everyone gather round!" Derek yells, getting the betas' attention. While they comply, Scott a bit more sedately than the rest, Stiles leaves Derek to stand with Lydia.

"Today's session might be boring for most of you as you've already done it, but I don't want to hear any complaints," Derek continues, looking pointedly at Jackson. The beta huffs but doesn't say anything. "With Scott we obviously have a new member—I hope for real this time. We need to get him up to speed with where the rest of you are in your combat training."

"This should be fun," Erica whispers, grinning.

Scott takes a step away from her.

"Now that there're five of you, you can't divide up into pairs for this like we've been doing so far. One of you will now be paired with me." Derek's face is smug when the betas share panicked looks. "Any volunteers?"

"Not it!" Isaac shouts. Erica and Boyd are quick to echo him.

Jackson glowers at the trio but follows suit. His voice is quieter and he is less obvious with his fear, but Stiles can still see the side of his face and the tension there.

"I guess that leaves you, Scott," Derek says, looking at the newest addition to the pack.

The beta gulps. "O-okay."

"The rest of you pair off and go over the techniques I've taught you so far. Refresh your memories. You've got to keep your skills sharp."

Derek waits until the four others have walked away a fair distance and begun attacking each other. He observes them for a few seconds, just to make sure they seem to be getting on alright without him. When he determines that they should be fine without supervision for a while—and he knows that Lydia will be watching them for him anyway, Jackson in particular—he refocuses on Scott, who shuffles his feet and warily meets his gaze.

"Are you ready?" Derek asks him, his eyes glowing red.

"I guess."

"Good."

Derek strips off his henley and throws it at Stiles, who just manages to catch it. This leaves him in a tank top, something much better suited to what is about to happen. Besides, he really likes that henley and doesn't want to ruin yet another one if he doesn't have to.

Before Scott can prepare himself, Derek lunges.

* * *

An hour later, Derek calls the training session to an end and wipes the sweat from his brow as he gathers the betas around him again. After sharing a glance with Lydia, in which she communicates to him how Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson did after he stopped watching them himself, he congratulates them all on doing a good job—even Scott, surprisingly. They are all tired and hungry, so once he has informed everyone that the next training session will take place exactly a week in the future, he sits with everyone on the ground and eagerly makes a start at eating the chicken cacciatore that he and Stiles had made earlier. It's still somehow warm.

Stiles is next to him, but they don't speak to each other. Instead the boy talks animatedly to Erica, and Derek simply listens.

"So you two _really_ aren't screwing yet?" the blonde asks.

Stiles groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, we're not. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Derek is stupefied. From Stiles' words he deduces that this is an ongoing debate between the two teenagers.

"Why not?" Erica pouts. "You're hot. He's hot. You should be getting all hot and sweaty together on the regular like Boyd and I are."

Quickly losing his appetite, Derek butts into the conversation before Erica can speak any more of him and Stiles that way. "I don't think it's really any of your business," he says to her, flashing his eyes so she'll get that he isn't playing around. He is satisfied when Erica's self-preservation instincts kick in and she changes the subject, but Derek's mind is still filled with the one she abandons.

He and Stiles have been talking a lot over the past couple of days about taking the plunge. Stiles obviously wants to have sex with him, and Derek wants that with Stiles as well. He subtly appraises the human as he continues to talk with Erica and admires his physical attractiveness. If someone had told Derek a few months ago that he would be attracted in both body and mind to an overly loquacious teenage boy—and that he would grow to find that loquaciousness endearing instead of annoying—he would have ripped their throats out with his teeth for daring to suggest something so ridiculous. And yet here he is.

The more Derek thinks about it, the more he is sure he wants to share that type of intimacy with Stiles.

Truthfully, he has been incredibly lonely ever since he was sixteen and fled Beacon Hills with Laura, keeping everyone—including her—at arm's length. Like he'd told Stiles yesterday, the mere thought of letting anyone else share his bed after Kate made him uncomfortable for the longest time, made him feel disgusting and used all over again. Derek replays the conversation they'd had in bed before Stiles had to get up to get ready for school, and then the one they'd had on the living room sofa the day before. It wasn't easy for him to speak so candidly, but he did it for Stiles because Stiles deserved it from him, and he feels stronger for it now.

His world didn't come crashing down when he let someone in again. He is sure that he can trust Stiles not to hurt him like Kate did, and he is beginning to trust that he won't hurt Stiles the same way. Maybe it's time to stop holding himself back. For years, the only thing that has been stopping him from reaching out and finally wrestling back his happiness is himself.

And he doesn't want to stand in his own way anymore.

His decision made to give himself over to Stiles completely, Derek ponders the best way to go about it. It needs to be _special_.

In hindsight, Kate hadn't made Derek's first time special at all. It was quick and dirty, and even back when he was still so sure he was in love with her, part of him had regretted it as soon as it was over. She used sex as a weapon to get her metaphorical claws into him, and he'd fallen for her tactics hook, line and sinker. Not a day goes by that Derek doesn't regret all the times he'd had sex with Kate, and he never wants Stiles to look back on the sex they'll soon have and feel the same thing.

There's just one problem: how does Derek make it special?

He is self-aware enough to know that romance isn't his forte. He needs advice, but who should he ask?

Looking around the group, Derek's first thought is to ask Erica or Lydia. It may be a gender stereotype that girls are better at these sorts of things than boys, but he figures that it's a stereotype for a reason. He could ask Scott instead—the beta has known Stiles the longest out of everyone present—but after further thought Derek concludes swiftly that Scott would be just as clueless about what to do as he is. It has to be one of the girls.

Erica? Maybe, but she'd probably tease the crap out of him, and he doesn't believe that she would be able to keep any plans they make a secret from Stiles.

This just leaves Lydia.

Derek frowns at his half-eaten food. It's a strange idea to go to Lydia of all people for help, and with _this_ of all things. The girl Stiles had had no shame professing his undying love for—for years upon years, as Derek understands it. It's definitely strange, but she remains his best bet for success.

Considering the matter as settled as it can be for now, Derek keeps eating and tries not to fret about it any more. When everyone has finished their food and starts getting ready to go back to their respective homes, he recalls that he is supposed to ask them all something very important. After giving Stiles his Tupperware container with the fork he used clattering around inside, he asks everyone to stop for a moment.

"What now? I'm tired and I need a shower," Erica whines, indicating the dirt on her clothes.

"Me, too," Isaac seconds.

"This won't take long," Derek promises.

Stiles comes to stand with him, providing silent support that Derek accepts gratefully.

"Stiles brought something up this morning that I think is relevant to all of you," the alpha says, all eyes on him. "It concerns telling your parents about the pack."

Erica's mouth hangs open. "Wait, that's an option?"

"I'm making it one now," Derek answers calmly. "I want all of you—particularly the betas—to have a long think about whether you want to tell your parents or not. Stiles wants to tell his dad and I agreed, so I thought it was only fair that the rest of you at least get the opportunity to do the same."

"I thought you didn't want your dad to know," Scott says to Stiles, his expression mystified.

"I didn't before, but," the human gestures between himself and Derek, "things have obviously changed, so…"

"That's all I wanted to say," Derek concludes. "Think carefully about it, and we'll decide who to tell and how to tell them at the session next week."

Once again the pack disperses, walking in small groups and pairs back toward where they'd all left their cars. When they make their way past, Derek considers stealing Lydia's attention from Jackson but then thinks better of it. Jackson likely wouldn't keep going without the redhead, and Derek couldn't talk to her now anyway, not with Stiles still around to overhear. He lets the couple go and decides that he'll text Lydia later and ask her to meet him somewhere they'll have privacy.

"So, Sourwolf, back home for us, too?" Stiles chirps from right next to him.

"Yeah," Derek replies, his heart fluttering. He hasn't felt like he had one in nearly a decade. "Home."


	19. Making it Special

_\- Saturday, May 14th, 2011 -_

Derek is uncharacteristically fidgety as he sets up what he and Lydia had planned for his first time with Stiles. The conversation they'd had was humiliating—and stilted as hell on his part—but the redhead had helped by being nothing but supportive once she got over her shock at being asked for advice on such a thing.

In the end, they agreed that Stiles wasn't really the type to like extravagance or grand gestures. The little things mean more to him, so they'd decided on something simple, which is how Derek ended up where he is now—standing in front of the stove in the Stilinskis' kitchen, watching over some thick noodles as they soften in a saucepan of simmering water. The perfect solution was right in front of him all along: cooking is dear to Stiles, is one of the ways that he expresses how much he cares for other people. So it makes sense that cooking something for the teenager will be a great way for Derek to show how much he cares in return.

This was confirmed when Derek got home and asked the sheriff what dish he should make. He was told that cooking was something Stiles shared with his mother and has kept up since her death using an old recipe book she left to him. The sheriff's eyes had gleamed when he showed Derek where Stiles kept it and suggested that he pick something from its weathered pages.

When Derek was left alone again, he'd flipped carefully through the book and read over every single handwritten recipe it contained. He was amazed by all the little notes scrawled in the margins in Stiles' hand, the minor adjustments Stiles had made to make the recipes tastier or healthier for the sake of his dad. It was clear to Derek that the book is something Stiles uses frequently and is one of his most treasured possessions. He gets why.

Derek doesn't have much to remember his family by, but what little he does have is incredibly dear to him and he doesn't know what he would do if he were to lose that as well.

He settled for a simpler recipe near the back of the book: hałuski. While he doesn't consider himself a bad cook, he's not great either, and he didn't want to risk messing anything up tonight by choosing something above his skill level. The sheriff will be working until the next morning, and during their talk Derek had tasked Lydia with keeping Stiles busy for a while so that he can get things ready as a surprise. Checking his phone, Derek takes a deep breath when he sees that it's nearing 7 p.m., the time when Lydia will drop Stiles back at the house.

Derek is incredibly nervous now that it's so close. What he'd said to Stiles about only having sex with Kate was true, and because he would love to erase all of that from his past, he'd like to believe that what will happen later will be his first time, too. They will be in the same boat, which is a comforting thought, just what Derek needs to get a grip on himself and concentrate on finishing dinner.

Determining that the noodles are close to being cooked through, he checks on the cabbage and onions that are sautéing in one frying pan, and on the cut-up pieces of bacon that are spitting away in another. They are close as well, meaning that Derek has timed things correctly.

He gives himself a pat on the back.

Minutes later, Derek is just plating up the food when he hears a car stopping outside of the house. A car door slams and then he hears the front door of the house open and close as Stiles enters with a weary sigh, an afternoon spent shopping with Lydia and then hanging out with her and Jackson apparently taking its toll. Derek sympathises with the boy and hurries to finish both meals with a small sprig of parsley on top of each plate. Then, when the sound of Stiles throwing himself onto the living room sofa reaches his ears, Derek walks quietly into the dining room and puts the food down in two place settings near each other at the same corner of the large table.

A box of matches is already there. He scrapes one against the side of the box to set it aflame and uses it to light the single candle that is in the centre of the table, the final touch to their intimate dinner. God, he hopes Stiles likes it.

"Der? Is that you?" comes the teenager's voice. "What smells so good?"

Footsteps, and then Stiles enters the dining room, his eyes opening wider than Derek thinks he has ever seen them.

"What's all this?" Stiles asks.

Derek clears his throat, his nerves returning full-force. "Dinner."

Stiles eyes the hałuski. "You…you made this?"

"I did."

"What brought this on?"

Moving around the table, Derek takes Stiles' hand and guides him to one of the chairs, which he pulls out for him. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

Sitting down slowly and allowing his chair to be pushed back in, Stiles looks down at his plate and then back up at Derek. "I appreciate it, but…why?"

After taking his own place at the table, Derek folds his hands in his lap and gathers his courage. "I thought that, maybe, if you're up for it, we could take the next step tonight," he replies transparently.

"You mean…?"

"Having sex, yes," Derek confirms with a reassuring smile. "We don't have to—"

"No!"

Shocked by the vehemence behind the word, Derek stops speaking and stares.

"No," Stiles repeats, more calmly this time. "I definitely, _definitely_ want to. So fucking badly. I just wasn't expecting it to happen tonight."

"That was kind of the point."

At Stiles' nonplussed expression, Derek explains his plan and the expression transforms into something that he can only describe as loving.

"Derek Hale, the secret romantic," Stiles murmurs, averting his gaze. His face now carries warmth which cannot be attributed to the candlelight. "Who'd have guessed?"

"So…is this okay?"

Stiles chuckles. "Yeah, Sourwolf, it's more than okay. This means a lot."

Derek breathes a sigh of relief, pleased that the first part of the evening has gone off without a hitch. "Dig in," he says, picking up his fork.

The teenager copies him, jamming his utensil in the top of his mound of noodles and twisting it in a circle. He makes an approving sound as he chews and then swallows his mouthful. "You said you made this?" he asks.

"I did."

"It's good. The recipe seems very familiar, minus the bacon. Did you…?"

"I got it from your mom's recipe book, yeah," Derek confirms. "Your dad showed me where it was."

Stiles purses his lips. "Did he now?"

"Yeah. I think he probably guessed what I was up to."

"Did he say anything to you?"

"No, thank God."

Stiles grins, probably imagining the look Derek would have worn in that scenario. The alpha flicks a piece of bacon at him to get him to stop.

* * *

When dinner was done, Derek washed up all the dishes while Stiles queued up the next episode of _The Vampire Diaries_. Derek had made the mistake of saying he didn't hate the pilot episode, so Stiles was set on there being a lot more episodes in his future. Derek didn't really mind that much—and he had to admit, at least privately, that as annoying as he found Elena and as vapid as Caroline was, reminding him a bit of the persona that Lydia used to put on, they were pretty, and the Salvatore brothers weren't bad to look at either. He would manage somehow.

Now, Derek sits on the side of his bed and quadruple-checks that everything is ready while Stiles uses the toilet down the hall.

Mood lighting, as suggested by Lydia? Check.

Lube? Check.

Condoms, in case Stiles wants him to use one? Check.

He checks everything a fifth time for good measure and then makes himself leave it alone. It's fine; nothing will go wrong.

Instead, Derek looks over the rest of his bedroom and notes the changes that have already happened since he moved into it. There was basically nothing inside of it then, but that isn't the case now. He doesn't have that many possessions himself—not even after he raided his family's old storage space a few days ago—but what little he does have is displayed proudly, truly making a space for himself in the Stilinskis' lives.

The dresser is now filled with his clothes, and on top of it there are a few trinkets that used to belong to Laura and Cora. On the night stand, next to the lube and condoms, is his phone plugged into his charger and a plain silver photo frame he'd bought himself. Inside it is one of the photographs that survived the fire, one of the very few he believes he can look at without setting his recovery progress back several steps. There are more photographs still in storage, meticulously-made copies of pretty much every single photo his parents took—ranging from dates they went on as teenagers, to their wedding, to Peter's wedding, to the birth of Laura, Derek and Cora and the years they spent growing up together in their old house in the preserve.

Derek can't quite bring himself to look at those yet.

Elsewhere, Derek sees other things that don't belong to him but which have still found their way into the room. Most of it is stuff Stiles has brought with him as he spends every night sleeping in Derek's bed instead of his own—a beaten-up PSP also on the nightstand, next to the book Derek is currently reading; a few articles of clothing scattered across the floor; math worksheets on the desk to the right of the bed. Derek thinks that, over time, Stiles will probably just end up giving up the pretence of having his own bedroom and move right into Derek's. The bed is bigger, so it would make sense.

As much as the idea of sharing his space with his mate warms Derek's heart, he will insist that Stiles keeps his own bedroom available. It will be good for them to each have their own space they can go to be alone.

Soon, Derek hears the tap in the bathroom turn off, the light switch being flipped and then Stiles opening the door. He stands from the bed and tries not to look as nervous as he feels as Stiles' footsteps get closer, and then the teenager enters the bedroom.

"So…how do we do this?" Stiles asks, tugging at the hem of his purple T-shirt.

"Before we begin, there are a couple more things we need to talk about," Derek says, taking Stiles' hand and sitting him down in the spot he just vacated. He remains standing. "It's nothing bad, but I need to make sure you know beforehand so you don't freak out if it happens during."

Stiles blinks up at him. "O-okay."

"First: mating bites. At the end, it'll be an instinct for me to bite you."

Stiles' face becomes horrified. "I don't want to be a werewolf, Derek!" he says urgently.

"I know, I know," Derek placates, holding up his palms. "It wouldn't change you. An alpha's bite still has to have intent behind it for that to happen, and I would never do that to you without your explicit consent. All this bite would do is bind us together as full-fledged mates. But it doesn't really matter right now because I'll be trying my hardest not to bite you tonight anyway."

Looking relaxed again, Stiles asks, "Oh…why?"

"You're still only sixteen," Derek explains. "I'm not going to do something that's essentially like marriage but with no take-backs, not until you're at least eighteen."

Stiles nods understandingly. "Okay, that makes sense. My dad wouldn't like that."

"Mmhmm…I don't want to force you to stay with me before you can, y'know, be sure that I'm who you want—"

"I get it, Sourwolf," Stiles interjects, "and I'm not complaining about you not biting me today, but I'm gonna stop you right there. I don't see myself wanting to be with anyone else, not in two years, not in ten. So get those thoughts out of your head right now, okay? We're both in this for the long haul, remember?"

"You never know—"

"Oh, I do, and that's that. Now, what was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

As much as he has trouble believing that what Stiles has just claimed is true, the part of Derek that had still been unsure if he was doing the right thing taking this next step so soon is quietened a little by the teenager's ardency. People of Stiles' age are capricious by nature, so Derek doesn't let his hopes get _too_ high that what Stiles claims will really come to pass, his self-preservation instincts still deeply ingrained in him. But he lets them get a bit higher.

"Right, the second thing," he says, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest in an effort to protect himself. He can't resist breaking eye contact with Stiles, though, recalling the last and only other time he had talked to a human about this and how well it hadn't gone. "It might not happen yet, but around the same time as I would normally give you a claiming bite, because I've come to think of you as my mate I might…knot you."

"Knot me?" Stiles repeats uncomprehendingly.

"Yeah, like dogs and actual wolves do."

Derek hears Stiles repeating the two words again and then a sharp inhale as he gets it.

"Oh, knot me! Gotcha. Okay, yeah, you were right to warn me about that because that wouldn't have been fun to discover in the moment." Stiles snorts. "But yeah, shouldn't be a problem now that I know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why is that so shocking?"

Derek tells Stiles about Kate's less-than-desirable reaction to the mere idea of knotting. "She hated anything she didn't think was 'natural', even during sex."

"Well, I'm not Kate. Thankfully."

"I know," Derek says, feeling weird now that the roles have been reversed and he is the one who needs reassurance. He didn't think that was how this evening would go. "But it's still hard to erase all the hang-ups that what she said gave me. I'm trying."

"I already know exactly who you are and I still wanna be with you, so I just hope that's enough," Stiles says, patting the space next to him. Once Derek has walked woodenly over to it and sat down, he continues: "I've seen what I'd guess would be most of your wolfy aspects, like your beta face, and none of them are an issue for me. In fact, I think I might kinda like them, if you catch my drift."

Derek hesitates but then says, "They…turn you on?"

Stiles shrugs. "Maybe. I haven't exactly seen them in a sexual context before, but they're at least not off-putting in any way. They're just a part of what makes you Derek Hale."

The alpha feels comforted. "That's good to know."

"Good. Now, was that all you wanted to talk about first?"

"I think so."

"So, on with the show?"

Derek fights a smile. "If you're sure you're ready."

"Oh, I'm ready," Stiles says, perking up. "I'm more than ready."

A second later, Derek curls his hand around the back of Stiles' neck and gently pulls their faces close. "If at any point you want or need me to stop, tell me and I will," he murmurs. "I won't be mad."

"I will. I trust you."

Satisfied, Derek connects their lips and pushes Stiles backward so that he is lying down on the bed, his head just hitting the pillows. Derek climbs on top of him, keeping most of his weight off of him for now as he slots himself in between Stiles' legs. He kisses with passion, with everything he feels finally reaching this point with him. Stiles' mouth tastes of toothpaste like Derek's own because they'd both brushed their teeth minutes ago, but beneath that Derek can just about pick up the taste that is uniquely Stiles', which he could very quickly become addicted to.

He feels Stiles wrapping his arms around him, trying to pull him closer. He complies, resting more of his weight on top of the boy so that their torsos are pressed against each other, the barrier of their T-shirts still between them. Stiles whimpers when Derek sucks on his tongue and then nips at his bottom lip, his nails digging into Derek's back. Soon he tugs at the alpha's henley.

"Off," he gasps into Derek's mouth.

"Patience…" Derek soothes, giving Stiles one last quick kiss before sitting back on his heels.

* * *

Stiles watches, entranced, as Derek does as he'd wanted him to. The alpha reaches for the hem of his T-shirt and starts peeling it from his torso, gifting Stiles with a wonderful view of his naked chest and abs. He is once again left breathless by the sight of Derek's tanned skin, a reaction he believes he will have every time he sees him like this.

Once the T-shirt is off, Derek sits there and allows him to look his fill.

Stiles sits up as well, putting himself at eye-level with the werewolf's hairy chest. Slowly, like he is waiting for Derek to change his mind and tell him no, Stiles moves his hand closer and closer until finally he touches him, his palm fitting against the curve of his pectoral muscle. He expels a shaky breath and sends up a heartfelt thank you to whichever deity sent Derek crashing into his life and then made him, the hottest man alive, genuinely interested in little ol' Stiles.

He doesn't know what he did in a past life to be deserving of such a thing, but there is no way he is turning it down now.

Putting a stop to those thoughts and just concentrating on the flesh in front of him, Stiles glances up at Derek's face to double-check that he is alright with this. When he sees nothing but affection and patience in his expression, he runs his hand down from Derek's chest to stroke over his abs, his index finger dipping briefly into his bellybutton. He hesitates when he reaches the buckle of the alpha's belt, but then he presses on and undoes it, certain that he will feel better about revealing his own body if Derek goes first. His hands shake so much that he can't quite manage it and he is embarrassed for himself, but Derek doesn't judge him.

The man moves Stiles' hands away and finishes the job himself. He pulls off his jeans in a single fluid movement that would have definitely sent Stiles toppling over the side of the bed if he were the one trying it, but Derek just makes it look graceful.

Stiles pushes the alpha so that their previous positions are reversed, with Derek on his back and Stiles above him. He feels braver with some more control and is grateful that Derek is giving it to him.

"Can I…can I take those off, too?" he asks, pointing to Derek's straining underwear.

"Yeah," Derek responds, his voice low and indescribably sexy.

His hands still shaking but not as badly as before, Stiles grips the waistband of Derek's boxer-briefs and gradually pulls them down. The alpha's cock gets temporarily bent downward before it is released and it smacks against his abs, but Stiles ignores this until the last stitch of Derek's clothing is gone and he has no more excuses to focus on anything else.

As soon as Stiles sees Derek's cock, his breathing stops. It's the first time he has seen another guy's hard dick in real life and it's beautiful, a quality he never thought he would ascribe to a penis. But everything about Derek is beautiful, so it stands to reason that this would be as well. It sticks up straight and proud from a thatch of dark curls at the base, approximately eight inches in length and gloriously uncut. Stiles doesn't have foreskin himself, so for several seconds he is unable to tear his eyes away from the excess skin partially covering the head of Derek's cock. Once he manages that, he runs his eyes down the length of it and doesn't miss the way it twitches under his gaze, pre-come burbling at the tip.

"You…" Stiles breathes, unable to form a proper sentence.

"You don't have to, Stiles," Derek says, misinterpreting his reaction.

"No…no I want to. I _really_ want to. Just gimme a minute."

"Okay."

When he is ready, Stiles shuffles forward a little, takes Derek's cock in his hand and gives it a stroke. He marvels at how different it feels to his own. Because his own cock is cut, he needs to use some form of lubrication to stroke himself from root to tip, but with Derek's it isn't as necessary. The foreskin covers the head on the upstroke and must provide enough stimulation that way, given how Derek's hips jerk upward and he tips his head back with a gasp.

"Is that good?" Stiles asks him, just to make sure.

"Y-yeah," Derek chokes out. "Very good."

Emboldened, Stiles strokes Derek a bit faster and uses his other hand to cup the alpha's balls. These are bigger than his own too, in proportion with Derek's cock. They've heavy and covered in fine hairs that tickle his palm.

"Look at you…" Stiles whispers reverently, entranced and unable to decide where to look.

Derek's huge cock in his hand; his weighty balls; the way Derek's broad hairy chest heaves as his breaths become deep shockingly quickly; one of his hands fisted in the sheets next to his hip and the other thrown above his head, displaying his hairy armpit…there is simply too much to look at.

"Stiles, I'm close," Derek warns eventually, amazing him.

"Already?"

In spite of his impending orgasm, Derek manages to roll his eyes. "It's been a few years, remember?"

"I guess I'd probably be no better," Stiles admits with a shrug. He doesn't want things to end so soon, though, so he releases the alpha's cock and waits until he has calmed down. "So…my turn?"

His breathing back under control, Derek pushes himself up so that he is leaning on his elbows and offers a small smile. "If you're ready."

Stiles returns the smile and says, "I think I am."

"Take your time."

Encouraged by Derek getting naked first like he hoped he would be, Stiles takes a breath and then strips off his T-shirt, leaving his top half exposed to Derek's gaze. He sees the alpha's eyes running all over him and holds his arms stubbornly at his sides, refusing to allow his insecurities to ruin this moment.

Confidence about his body is something that has eluded Stiles for years, ever since he hit puberty and started to pick up on how much things like that mattered to everyone else around him. Then joining the lacrosse team wreaked havoc on his self-esteem. Nearly every time he showered with the other boys on the team, he was unable to stop comparing himself to them, the way their muscles were appearing beneath their baby fat faster than his were.

It never go so awful that Stiles hated himself or anything, but it was enough that letting Derek see him topless takes more effort than he would like. The only saving grace is that Derek doesn't look disgusted. In fact, he looks approving, which is beyond what Stiles had hoped for.

When Derek meets his eyes again and nods, Stiles lies down, pops the button of his chinos and pulls down the zipper. Without thinking about it, he divests himself of them and his underwear in one swoop, leaving him completely naked like Derek. He wiggles in place atop the sheets and startles when he feels Derek's hand on his ankle.

* * *

When Stiles has stopped moving, Derek takes in his total nudity.

The teenager is skinny, without much muscle, and the skin of his torso is smooth apart from the trail of hair below his bellybutton and a tiny patch in the centre of his chest. Derek doesn't mind the skinniness. He actually quite likes the contrast in their body types, but he can tell from Stiles' shiftiness that he isn't very comfortable showing himself like this yet. Something like that will only come with time, but Derek knows he can help ease his mate's worries in the moment by giving his honest opinion on what he sees.

"I think you're gorgeous," he opines, meeting Stiles' eyes and letting him read the sincerity in his own.

"R-really?" Stiles stammers, blushing.

"Really. You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"But…compared to you…"

"You can't think like that. Everyone's different and that's okay. But if after tonight you still want to do something about the way you look, tone up a bit—not that I think you need it—I'm not going to stop you. In fact, I'll even help you."

"You will?"

"Of course."

"I'll think about it."

Nodding his acceptance, Derek flicks his eyes down to Stiles' crotch. "Can I taste you?"

Stiles' eyes nearly bug out of his head. "You want to blow me?"

"If that's alright with you."

There is a moment of silence, and then Stiles says a breathy, "Hell yes."

Grinning at the boy's enthusiasm, Derek moves down the bed and lies down on his front between Stiles' legs, his pretty cock right in front of his face. Stiles is slightly smaller than him, a respectable six inches, and he is cut. Derek spends a little time admiring him and then, when he can sense that Stiles is getting antsy, he takes the head past his lips.

Derek has never given a blowjob before, so it feels weird and he is unsure what to do with a cock on his tongue. But he doesn't hate the taste and he wants to make this good for Stiles, so despite his uncertainty he works hard to do things he thinks he himself would enjoy, figuring that Stiles will enjoy them, too. He bobs his head, pausing briefly when Stiles tangles his fingers in his black hair, and then he wiggles his tongue against the glans, feeling triumphant when Stiles releases a choked sound of pleasure.

"I'm not…gonna last!" Stiles gasps above him, his virginal teenage stamina showing itself.

Derek pulls off of his cock with a wet pop and licks his lips. "Turn over," he says, pushing at Stiles' hip.

When he is no longer in danger of coming, Stiles does so, and Derek is gifted with a view of Stiles' ass. His cheeks are mostly hairless and the skin is even paler than the rest of him. Derek sees small tremors wracking through the teenager from being in such a vulnerable position, so he strokes his hands softly down his back, over his ass and then his thighs in an effort to soothe him. It works after a couple of repetitions, and then Derek reaches over to the nightstand and grabs the bottle of lube he'd put there before.

"You ready?" he asks Stiles. He pops the cap.

Stiles jolts as if the sound is much louder than it is. "Yeah…"

"Remember: if you ask me to stop, I will."

"N-noted."

After slicking up his right index and middle fingers, Derek uses his dry hand to pull Stiles' cheeks apart. He runs his slick index finger in circles around the boy's hole, coaxing it to relax and let him inside. Derek has no experience with this either, but he took a page out of Stiles' book after his talk with Lydia and did some research, enough to know what he would be doing when the time came.

That research comes in handy here and he slowly inserts one finger a couple of knuckles past Stiles' rim and then stops. Stiles feels amazingly hot inside, and already Derek imagines what such tight heat will feel like around his cock.

"You doing okay?" he asks. Stiles hasn't said anything, so he wants to make sure.

"I'm fine," the teenager replies, his voice slightly higher. "You can keep going."

Nodding again even though Stiles can't see him, Derek pushes his finger in the rest of the way and then slides it out several times, getting Stiles used to him. When the boy isn't clenched so tightly around him, Derek inserts his middle finger alongside his index and stops when they are all the way inside. It takes nearly ten minutes for those two fingers to become three and then four, until Derek is sure that Stiles will be able to take his cock without too much difficulty.

Withdrawing his fingers, Derek asks Stiles if he wants him to use a condom.

The boy looks back over his shoulder, his arms shaking because he has been supporting himself on them for so long. "Do we need one?"

"No. Werewolves can't carry human diseases, but I got them just in case. Do you want me to wear one?"

Stiles thinks for a few seconds and then shakes his head. "No. I wanna feel you."

Secretly pleased because he wants the same thing, Derek squirts some more lube onto his palm and slicks himself up.

"Wait!" Stiles exclaims suddenly, startling Derek.

Derek interprets this as a change of heart and feels his own begin to sink. "Do you want to stop?"

"God no," Stiles answers, turning over onto his back. "Just wanna see you."

Relieved despite himself, Derek makes sure his cock is covered in enough lube and then fits his hips in between Stiles' thighs. "I'm gonna push inside now, okay? Remember—"

"I know. If I need you to stop, just say so," Stiles interrupts him.

Derek is reassured by the reemergence of his mate's snarky attitude. "Right," he confirms. He leans over Stiles so that his left hand is next to Stiles' head and uses his right to guide himself to Stiles' entrance.

The head of his cock slips inside without much trouble because the prep Derek did was sufficient, at least for the beginning. But when he starts to feed Stiles the rest of his eight inches, they hit their first real bump in the road. Stiles has to tell him to stop repeatedly, and each time Derek is left waiting for the go-ahead for several agonising minutes, resisting the lure of how tight and hot Stiles' hole is around him. It feels even more amazing than he'd thought it would, but he manages to control himself by watching the obvious discomfort play across Stiles' face. Even when the tension in Stiles' features clears, he waits until the boy verbally tells him to keep going every time.

When Derek is finally buried to the hilt in Stiles' ass, both of his hands on either side of Stiles' head now, they are both sweating and breathing heavily.

"You're inside me," Stiles breathes, staring up at Derek with doe eyes.

Derek laughs shakily. "Yeah…God, the way you feel…"

"Right back atcha."

Soon, Stiles' body acclimates to being stretched so wide and he tells Derek he can move.

"Just…go slow, okay?" he requests.

"I will."

* * *

When Derek pulls his cock out again, Stiles is left feeling like he has been hollowed out. He is surprisingly empty with only the head inside of him, and he wants it back already. Derek sticks to his word, though, moving inexorably slowly when he thrusts back in. Stiles' cock, which had gone soft as Derek struggled to enter him, starts to fill with blood again when the alpha brushes against his prostate. He chokes on his own breath and clenches his eyes shut, an action that Derek apparently thinks was caused by pain.

"Stiles?" the werewolf calls worriedly, ceasing all movement.

"Don't stop!" Stiles begs, forcing his eyes open and resting his hands on Derek's back. "That wasn't a sound of pain, Sourwolf."

"Oh…"

Still cautious, like he doesn't wholly believe it, Derek resumes his syrupy-slow thrusts.

Stiles thinks it's weird, having someone inside of him. A few months ago, he never thought he would be the one getting fucked, nor did he think that his bedmate would possess body hair and hard muscles instead of smooth skin, breasts and soft curves, but now that it's happening Stiles can't see himself wanting anything else.

Maybe it's just the sentimental side of him, but Stiles feels connected to Derek in a way he has never felt connected to anyone before. He understands the looks Erica and Boyd share with each other, and his parents, back when his mother was still healthy and alive. As Derek continues to move inside of him and their eyes stay locked, Stiles' heart grows several sizes in his chest and three words choke him. He wants to let them spill out but holds them back. It seems too early to him, and he doesn't want to say them for the first time in the middle of sex anyway. Something about that seems incredibly tacky to him, so he makes himself wait.

Eventually, Stiles doesn't feel any discomfort at all and tells Derek that he can go faster. Derek does so and still moves with a grace that Stiles believes just comes with being a werewolf, but it's obvious that he doesn't have much more experience when it comes to sex than Stiles does. He experiments with his thrusts, and Stiles can see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to find the best way to move to provide them both with the most pleasure. He appreciates it, but he wants them to be in the moment more.

"Just let go," he whispers, reaching up and cupping Derek's cheeks.

Derek's thrusts falter briefly. "What?"

"Stop thinking so much, Sourwolf. Just feel. That's what I want."

Nodding hesitantly, Derek resumes his thrusts and lowers himself to kiss Stiles, helping them both to stop thinking and just _be_. The altered position seems to work, because Stiles feels Derek's cock brush up against his prostate a lot more frequently now.

When the kiss ends, Derek noses down Stiles' throat and inhales audibly, scenting him. He nips and sucks at the vulnerable flesh, leaving a mark, and then he keeps going, nosing along Stiles' left collarbone and then taking Stiles' left hand from his back and pushing it up above his head. Stiles' eyebrows go up on his forehead when Derek begins snuffling into his armpit, but he supposes he was warned about this beforehand. It's an odd sensation, especially when he feels a bit of tongue, but he just goes with it because he remembers admitting to wanting to do the exact same thing to Derek.

"Do I really smell that g-good?" he asks, his voice cracking at the end as the head of Derek's cock hits his prostate dead on.

Derek hums his assent and noses further into Stiles' armpit.

Laughing for a moment at the absurdity of it all, Stiles is quick to get over it and embrace it. He takes Derek's other arm and lifts that above his head as well so that he can return the favour. He is tentative at first, lifting is head up off of the pillow and contorting himself awkwardly so that he can reach his target, but he is powerless to resist the lure of Derek's hairy armpit when it's right there for the taking.

Derek is showing no shame, so he shouldn't either.

Taking the alpha's lead, Stiles sticks is nose right in there and breathes deeply through his nose. The first thing he smells is Derek's deodorant, which is pleasant but not what he is really after. Soon enough he smells it, the musk that belongs to the werewolf himself, masculine and woodsy and absolutely perfect. It makes Stiles' dick leak where it lies against his stomach. Stiles stays with his nose in Derek's armpit hair for as long as Derek lets him, which turns out to be a damn long time.

When the alpha picks himself back up again a few minutes later, Stiles is stunned to see that his face has changed. He hasn't seen Derek's beta form since that night in the warehouse, not even during any of the betas' training sessions. He expected that it would bring up bad memories at first, but it doesn't. Like he'd told Derek it might before they started this, when Derek stares down at him with coarse hair down the sides of his face, no eyebrows, fangs in his mouth and blood-red eyes, Stiles is just turned on, the scent of the werewolf's armpit lingering in his nostrils.

He is once again getting close to coming, heat building in his lower belly. Stiles uses his legs to pull Derek into him, wanting to get there already.

"You close?" Derek asks him, his fangs making him lisp slightly. It's adorable.

"Yeah…"

Derek reaches between them and takes Stiles' cock in hand, stroking it in time with his thrusts. It doesn't take long at all for Stiles' orgasm to overtake him. He throws his head back and opens his mouth in a soundless scream as he spurts between them, coating his stomach and Derek's fingers in his jizz. When it's over, Stiles peers blearily up at the alpha.

"You, too. Wanna feel you dripping outta me," he says huskily. He doesn't know where this filth comes from, but it does the trick.

Derek redoubles his efforts, hunching over Stiles and fucking him hard, so hard that Stiles is sure he will be feeling the werewolf for days. He can't wait. Derek's cock seems to stretch his hole wider and wider with every thrust, which with a shock of excitement Stiles determines to be Derek's knot slowly expanding, preparing to tie them together.

"I'm gonna—" Derek gasps, his lips against Stiles' neck again.

"Come for me, Sourwolf."

In the next second, he does. Derek thrusts inside one last time and then stays there, his whole body shaking as he paints Stiles' insides and his knot enlarges to its full size. He bites down into the pillow by the teenager's neck and tears into it with his fangs because his instincts tell him he needs to bite _something_. Stiles is glad, because as much as he sees himself being with Derek for a long time, preferably his whole life, he _is_ still only sixteen, and he doesn't know how the hell he would explain basically being married to Derek to his dad.

When Derek's hips stop twitching and he spits out the chunk of pillow he'd ruined, Stiles is docile as the alpha picks his leg up and twists him around so that he can fit up against his back. The movement tugs the knot against his rim for a couple of painful seconds, but then it's over and Derek wraps his arms around him from behind.

"That was…" Stiles says, basking in the afterglow. He no longer has his virginity, and he couldn't be happier with who he decided to give it to.

"I know," Derek whispers into Stiles' neck. "Thank you."

"For what?"

Derek sighs. "I never knew it could be like that."

Stiles smiles at the wall and tugs Derek's arms tighter around himself. "Me neither."


	20. Facing the Future

_\- Sunday, May 15th, 2011 -_

Derek wakes up to fingers walking up and down his spine. He groans tiredly and rolls off of his front to face Stiles, glaring with one half-open eye because his face is smushed into his pillow. "Stop that," he says grumpily, batting Stiles' hand away when he tries to annoy him again.

"Good morning to you, too," the teenager grins, apparently in a good mood. "You're living up to my nickname for you."

"Can you blame me?"

"Yup. I'm adorable," Stiles jokes. "You should never be mad at me."

Grumbling to himself, Derek turns over the rest of the way so that he is lying on his back and throws an arm over his face, covering his eyes. "That's a stretch."

"C'mon, what's got you in such a sour mood, Sourwolf?" Stiles enquires, poking Derek in the ribs.

"What time is it?"

"Uhh…" Derek feels Stiles lean over his body, presumably to grab his phone from the nightstand. "It's a little after seven. Why?"

"It's too early. That's why I'm in a 'sour mood', as you put it."

"You're lucky you're cute when you're grumpy."

Derek raises his arm just enough to peek out at the teenager's sunny face. Despite his claims, he isn't really that grumpy. And Stiles is right: he _can't_ be grumpy when that smile is directed at him. "I'm not cute. I'm a big, strong alpha werewolf—"

"Who don't need no man?" Stiles talks over him.

Derek stops hiding his face altogether and frowns. "What?"

"Sorry…it's just a thing. Don't worry about it." Stiles' expression is exasperated yet fond, which it always is whenever Derek doesn't understand something he says. "Finish your thought."

With a huff, Derek does so: "I'm a big, strong alpha werewolf and being 'cute' is nowhere in my wheelhouse."

"That just makes how well you pull it off all the more impressive then," Stiles says doggedly.

"I'm not cute, Stiles," Derek denies, a hint of a growl in his voice. The tiny smile curling the outsides of his lips belies his annoyance.

"You're just in denial."

"Oh really?"

"Yup," Stiles says, obnoxiously popping the 'P'.

"Well, we'll just see about that."

Before Stiles can prepare himself, Derek launches across the bed and climbs on top of him, pinning his hands above his head and straddling his waist. "Am I cute now?" he asks the teenager, grinning himself now but with sharper-than-human teeth.

Stiles doesn't even attempt to free himself. He just lies there and smirks up at Derek, pretending to be completely unaffected, but through the underwear they'd both put on after cleaning themselves up last night Derek can feel Stiles hardening against his perineum, revealing the truth.

"I dunno…" the boy murmurs after a while. He licks his lips with purpose, drawing Derek's gaze. "I might need some more convincing."

In the next second, Derek crashes their mouths together and immediately wrests control of the kiss from Stiles. He is still careful because of his fangs, not wanting to cut Stiles' lips or his tongue when it slides against his own, but he does everything he can to assert his strength and dominance over his new lover. He starts getting hard as well. He grinds his hips down against Stiles' erection and swallows down the resulting whine that Stiles releases.

Transferring both of Stiles' wrists into one hand to keep his arms pinned, Derek uses his free hand to tear the underwear off of both of them, leaving them naked once more. Then he moves his body forward a bit so that Stiles' straining cock pops up and slots right into the crack of his ass. Stiles gasps into his mouth, surprised by this turn of events.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" the teenager asks him after wrenching his mouth away.

"I don't know," Derek says teasingly. "What do you think I'm doing?"

His cockiness gone, Stiles opens and closes his mouth several times like a fish, struggling to speak. "R-riding me?" he squeaks eventually, his cheeks bright-red.

Derek's eyes flash, staying in character. "D'you want me to ride you?"

"I— I don't—"

"Because I'd like to think of myself as equal-opportunity here. It's only fair we give it a go, right?"

"Uhh—"

"But that can wait for another time. For now…"

Still not giving Stiles a chance to find his voice again, Derek takes himself in hand and moves his hips back and forth, grinding back onto Stiles' cock and then fucking forward into his own fist. It isn't long until the teenager gets with the picture and finds a rhythm with him, bucking his hips up in time with Derek as best he can with two hundred pounds of werewolf atop him.

Stiles is the first to reach his peak, the tendons in his neck standing out as he splatters the small of Derek's back with his come. Once his orgasm ends, he tugs his hands out of Derek's hold and urges the alpha to move even further forward, bringing his thick cock right in front of his face. Derek grips the headboard instead and doesn't say anything to discourage Stiles as he wraps his lips around the head of his cock, his tongue sliding beneath the foreskin to wiggle against the glans.

Derek tilts his head back and closes his eyes on a loud moan, already close to coming again himself. He is surprised when he feels Stiles swipe his fingers through the come on his lower back and then get adventurous with them, but he doesn't try to stop him. In fact, he hunches over so that his ass sticks out at a better angle and it is easier for Stiles to slide his fingers between his hairy cheeks and prod at his hole. It's an odd sensation at first, because Derek hasn't been touched there in a sexual context until today. The only times a finger usually goes there are when he cleans himself in the shower, but once the oddness wears off he can't say he doesn't like it.

"More," he tells Stiles, intrigued.

Stiles obliges him, inserting one slick finger into Derek's virginal asshole and stroking over his inner walls. This stimulus combined with the lips and tongue on his cock is enough to have Derek's second orgasm in under twelve hours creeping up on him as well. He warns Stiles just in case he doesn't want to swallow, but the teenager surprises him again by sucking on him even harder.

It's the pad of Stiles' finger accidentally hitting his prostate which sends him over the edge. He shoots into Stiles' mouth and tightens his hands around the headboard so much that the wood creaks dangerously, but he thankfully manages not to break it in the throes of passion. Once he can see again, he breathes deeply and looks down his torso to see Stiles licking his softening cock clean, paying special attention to his foreskin so no drop of come escapes him.

"You're gonna be a handful in bed, aren't you?" Derek asks him.

Pulling his mouth off of Derek, Stiles grins unabashedly. "I like to consider myself a handful with everything."

"That's true enough, I suppose."

Stiles withdraws his finger from Derek's ass and, to Derek's astonishment, he sucks that clean as well. "God, you're going to be the death of me," the werewolf groans, flopping over to his right so that he can recover the rest of the way from his orgasm.

"What a way to go, though," Stiles muses beside him, making him laugh tiredly.

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

Derek opens his eyes and stares into Stiles'. "No…I don't," he concurs.

Stiles sits up for a moment, tosses their ruined underwear to the floor and then pulls the sheets back up over them both. "Did you mean what you said?"

Derek lifts his arm so that the teenager can slide beneath it and rest his head on his hairy chest. "About what?"

"About me topping sometime soon."

"Yeah, I meant it," Derek confirms, his hole clenching with anticipation.

"Huh. I didn't really have a problem with it, but last night I just assumed that you'd be doing all the topping."

"Who knows what'll happen in the future."

Stiles lifts his head again and raises an eyebrow at Derek. "You might turn out be a massive cock slut?"

"I wouldn't go _that_ far," Derek chides halfheartedly.

"It's alright. We can be cock sluts together. You already made _me_ one last night."

Derek heaves a long-suffering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I've created a monster, haven't I?"

Stiles just cackles.

* * *

Stiles sits in the living room and waits for Derek to return home with a six-pack of beers for the sheriff and the Chinese food they will all be having for dinner. It's the sheriff's favourite, and Stiles wants him to be in a good mood for the very difficult conversation they will be having soon. The pack's weekly training session was earlier that afternoon, and after enduring a whole bunch of teasing about Stiles and Derek finally 'getting it on', as Erica had put it, they had unanimously agreed that the betas and Stiles would all tell their parents about their involvement in the supernatural world. The sheriff is first and so Stiles is anxious.

He really wants telling his dad to go well—or as well as it can. His dad already knows that he has been in a few life-threatening situations lately, but he doesn't know the cause of them. Stiles fears that, once he knows the full story, the sheriff will blame Derek for his son being in danger and take back his acceptance of their new relationship. He has faith, though. He has to, or else he'd go crazy.

Not soon enough, Stiles hears Derek's Camaro pull up outside. He gets up to greet the alpha at the front door and take the bag of Chinese food from him.

"Did you get everything?" he asks, peering quickly inside it.

"Yes, I did," Derek answers. "Relax, Stiles. Everything will go fine."

The sheriff is in the kitchen and has three plates out ready, having obviously heard Derek's arrival.

"Smells great," the older man says, liberating Derek of the beers as well. "Are you having one?"

Derek shakes his head. "I'll pass. Thanks, though."

Stiles dishes up everybody's food while the alpha and the sheriff bring a bottle of beer, a can of Coke and a glass of water through to the dining room. Once Stiles has finished portioning out the rice, heaping it high on Derek's plate in particular, he follows the two others, balancing one of the plates on his forearm like he is a waiter working at a restaurant. Derek leaps up from his chair to grab a couple of the plates before Stiles can drop them, which would make Stiles feel affronted if he hadn't done that exact thing before.

"Alright, is somebody going to tell me the reason I'm allowed to eat Chinese tonight?" the sheriff asks Stiles and Derek once everybody is seated.

The teenager and the werewolf share a significant glance.

"Well?"

Stiles swallows with some difficulty and turns to face his father. "Actually, dad, we have something important we need to tell you."

"Are you pregnant?" the sheriff enquires, his voice strained.

"What? No!" Stiles exclaims, angry at the accusation for a moment before he realises that A) his dad is messing with him, and B) he can't get pregnant anyway. With a rapidly reddening complexion, Stiles tries again. "No, but it _is_ serious."

The sheriff keeps eating. "I know I didn't say anything the day after, but I hope you two used a condom."

"We didn't," Stiles says tightly, "but that kinda ties into what we need to tell you."

Finally the sheriff drops his jocular demeanour. He lays his fork down on the side of his plate, looks askance at Derek and then gives his son his full attention. "I'm listening."

"This is gonna sound crazy at first, but bear with me, okay?"

The sheriff nods hesitantly. "Okay."

Stiles decides to just rip the Band-Aid off before he can lose his nerve. "Werewolves are real, and Derek is one of them," he says straightforwardly.

In the ensuing silence, Stiles could hear a pin drop. His dad's face is inscrutable, giving nothing away, and Derek looks back and forth between the two of them, unsure whether he should jump in yet or not.

"Werewolves…are real," the sheriff repeats after almost a full minute has ticked slowly by.

"Yes."

After a further few seconds, his dad's face finally shows another emotion: worry. "Are you on drugs?" the man asks his son.

"No, of course not," Stiles denies. "I'm telling you the truth. The strange things that've been happening in this town over the past few months? All of those were caused by or involved werewolves and hunters in some way, and I've been helping whenever I can."

"You're sure you're not on drugs?" the sheriff asks again.

After rolling his eyes because he knew something like this would happen, Stiles looks pointedly at Derek.

"Sheriff," the alpha calls, getting the older man's attention. "It's true. I am a werewolf."

The sheriff leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "Prove it."

Stiles and Derek share another glance, and then Derek looks back at the sheriff and allows his beta shift to take over, his eyes glowing, his eyebrows receding into his skin and his teeth lengthening into vicious-looking fangs. The sheriff startles so violently that his chair tips backward and he falls to the floor, his eyes full of fear. Stiles swiftly leaves his own chair and helps his dad get back to his feet, but the sheriff doesn't take his gaze off of Derek, not even when the werewolf's features return to their human state.

"Y-you…you're…" the sheriff stammers, lost for words.

"Yes, he's a werewolf," Stiles finishes for him.

"How?"

Stiles sits his dad back down and retakes his own place at the table. "It all started when I convinced Scott to sneak out to find a body in the preserve."

* * *

"Let me see if I've got this right," the sheriff says after a whole hour of Derek and Stiles explaining the events of the past few months. He puts his palms down flat on the table, on either side of his plate. Everyone's dinner is cold and has gone mostly untouched since Derek showed the older man his beta form. "Hunters killed the Hale family because they thought all werewolves were monsters and deserved to die, purely because they were werewolves."

"Which was bullshit…" Stiles mumbles.

"Stiles!" the sheriff chides, still parenting even though he is partially in a state of shock.

"Sorry. But it was."

"Yes, well." The sheriff clears his throat. "Then Derek left, but Laura, who was now the…the alpha…came back, was killed by her uncle Peter for her power, and Derek came to find out what happened to her. Kate Argent _also_ came back, Peter bit and turned Scott and killed Kate, and then Derek killed Peter. Only Peter isn't actually dead. Do I have that right?"

Stiles shrugs. "More or less."

"Right…so then Derek became the alpha, recruited Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Jackson into his _pack_ , only Jackson didn't become a werewolf. What did you say he was again?"

"A kanima," Stiles answers. "He's a werewolf now, though."

"And a kanima is…?"

"Like a big, human-sized lizard creature thing."

"Who Matt Daehler controlled because he wanted revenge on the people who almost let him drown at a pool party in the Laheys' backyard."

"Right."

"I guess that explains a couple of reports the station had about strange sightings around town. So that night at the station—"

"Jackson killed those deputies, but only because Matt made him."

"And the van you stole—"

"We needed the restraints and privacy. Not our brightest idea but we were trying to help Jackson accept what was happening to him."

"Right…"

The sheriff goes silent then, picks up his beer bottle and downs the last of the drink. He picks at the label as he thinks. "Then Matt was killed and Gerard took over control."

"Right again," Stiles confirms.

"This is insane," the sheriff says disbelievingly. It's obvious that he is desperately trying to rationalise everything he has been told and explain it all away as something he still considers normal. The way his eyes flick up to Derek every few seconds leads Stiles to suspect that he is repeatedly seeing Derek's beta form, bringing him crashing back into the truth. "This is all so insane."

"I know it sounds that way, dad, but everything we've told you is true," Stiles says softly, taking the empty beer bottle from him when the label comes off.

"But that would mean…I knew you'd gotten yourself into some sticky situations lately, but this? This makes everything so much worse."

"I get that, but I'm safe. Once we got our sh— uh…once we got our _stuff_ together, Derek and the others kept me as safe as they could, and I did the same for them."

"Because you're all in the same pack?"

"Yeah."

The sheriff sighs and finally seems to accept what Stiles and Derek have told him. "I guess that explains why you had your falling out with Scott. I knew there was more to it."

Stiles guesses that, even with his acceptance, his dad is choosing to focus on the easiest part. "He was a dick, but he apologised and we're cool now—as long as he doesn't do something stupid again."

Without anything to occupy his hands, the sheriff leans on his elbows and rubs at his temples. "This is giving me a headache."

"Why don't you sleep on it?" Derek suggests, speaking for the first time in a while.

"I'm not sure I _could_ sleep right now."

"Try. And if you think of any questions—or when, I guess—I'll answer them all tomorrow."

The sheriff nods absentmindedly. "Yeah, yeah…that'd be good. I _am_ pretty tired."

Minutes later, once the sheriff has gone to bed, Derek and Stiles migrate to the living room sofa with their plates of reheated Chinese food on their laps.

"I think that went well," Derek says, eyes fixed on the TV screen as another episode of _The Vampire Diaries_ starts to play.

"Better than I expected," Stiles agrees.

* * *

_\- Saturday, June 18th, 2011 -_

Just over a month later, Derek stands in the preserve and watches his pack spar with pride.

Boyd and Scott are evenly matched, Scott's speed enough to make up for the strength Boyd has on him.

Erica and Isaac have near enough the same capabilities as each other, so they have no trouble going toe-to-toe either.

Jackson drew the short straw in this session and is sparring with Peter, who has nearly two decades' worth of experience over him. It shows. Some might consider it a bit unfair of Derek to allow his uncle to put Jackson through his paces like this—Jackson certainly did when he was told that that was what was going to happen—but Derek had overheard the teenage beta mouthing off again at the end of last week's training session, so he doesn't ask his uncle to go easier on his opponent.

Elsewhere in the large clearing, Allison, the newest addition to the pack, stands together with her father, Stiles, Lydia and Danny. The latter's eyes are fixed on Peter with admiration and lust, so Derek looks quickly away from him. Lydia watches everyone, assisting Derek as usual in keeping a tally of every time a beta fails to block an attack from their sparring partner or is temporarily pinned to the ground. Allison and Chris are doing something similar. This is only the second session Allison has attended and it's the first for her father, so both are observing with curiosity—and Derek is glad to see that Chris looks somewhat approving, like he is finally coming around on werewolves not being slaves to their animal halves like Gerard taught him.

It's about time.

When Derek looks at Stiles, he finds the boy already looking right back at him. They share a smile.

* * *

That evening, the sheriff comes home with some important news for Derek.

"They're making plans to tear down your old house," he says across the dinner table, causing the alpha to inhale sharply, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"They're what?"

"Apparently it's been in the works for a while, but they're finally going ahead with it."

Derek puts down his spoon and stares at his plate, unsure how he feels about it. He hasn't been back to his old house in a while, which is a startling revelation to him. He holed up in its ruins back when he first returned to Beacon Hills at the start of the year, and then he used to visit it a couple of times a week when he lived in the abandoned train station, unable to let it go. Perhaps those visits were a form of penance, a way of forcing himself not to forget the part he unwittingly played in its destruction so that history never repeated itself.

Or perhaps it was a way of holding onto the memories he shared there with his family.

Derek doesn't know anymore, but it doesn't really matter now.

He knew that, with both him and Laura in New York and with Peter showing no signs of coming out of his coma for years, the old Hale house was no longer his property. Derek hadn't really given it much thought before. Maybe some part of him had thought the burned ruins would always be there. Like a monument to tragedy.

"When?" Derek finally asks the sheriff.

"In a few weeks."

Derek nods and distractedly keeps eating his beef stew.

Stiles leans over and whispers, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little surprised is all."

"How do you feel about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean are you okay with your old house being torn down?"

"Honestly, I don't really know."

Stiles turns to his dad. "Do you know what they're planning on doing with that space afterwards?"

The sheriff shakes his head. "No, just that the house is going." The table goes quiet for a few minutes, and then he speaks again: "If you want, Derek, I can try and see if there's anything I can do to delay the demolition a bit."

Derek is confused. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm sure that, if you were interested, it wouldn't be too difficult to get the house put back in your name, now that you're settled here again. You have the recommendation of the sheriff, after all," John replies with a wink. "I just think it might be good."

A thought strikes Derek then and he bows his head. "You want me to leave."

"No," John denies immediately, causing Derek to jerk his head back up again. "That's not it at all."

"Then what is it, dad?" Stiles chips in, his expression making it clear that he had come to the same conclusion.

"I'm happy for Derek to keep living here until you go off to college, Stiles, but then what?" John explains. "I'm not going to kick him out, but realistically he can't live here forever. It's just a suggestion so he doesn't actually have to do it, but I thought that maybe Derek could rebuild his old house. If he feels up to living there again. As I understand it, there was a good reason your family built the house in the middle of the preserve in the first place, right, Derek?"

Derek nods slowly. "Living right in the middle of civilisation can get…overwhelming. And it increases the risk of new werewolves being found out."

"There you go, then."

"I don't know…"

"You don't have to decide right now. Like I said, there's still a bit of time left. Just think about it, son."

Already doing so, it takes Derek some time to hear what the sheriff just called him. He stares disbelievingly at the older man, who seems oblivious because he is already engrossed in another conversation with Stiles.

Derek's heartbeat falters as he makes himself eat more of his stew. No one has called him 'son' since before he was sixteen. He tries to tell himself that the sheriff didn't mean anything by it, but then he recalls all the times he has heard him call Stiles 'son' and his heartbeat falters again. If the sheriff is calling both of them the same thing, that must mean that they both mean the same thing to him, which makes Derek feel panicked at first.

But then, once it has all sunk in, Derek just feels a sense of belonging, like the final hurdle has been crossed and he has been truly welcomed into the family.

* * *

_\- Sunday, August 7th, 2011 -_

Derek stands with Peter in front of his old house and stares up at the shattered window which belonged to his childhood bedroom. His feelings are mixed as always. He feels the deep sense of loss which will likely never leave him as long as he lives, but on the opposite end of the spectrum he feels hope that maybe new memories will be made there soon.

The house is his now.

He is eternally indebted to Stiles' dad for the help he'd given him in reclaiming it from the town. It will still be demolished, but now it will be on Derek's terms and in its place a new house will be constructed.

He has already started on the plans for the new house in collaboration with the construction company he now works for. His bosses were wary at first. They didn't think it was worth their time to work on just one house; it wasn't what they normally did. But Derek already had more than enough money to commission the project and make it worth their while thanks to his family's inheritance and life insurance policies, and in his short time doing his apprenticeship he has already proven himself to be a hard-working and valuable employee, so the demolition will begin the very next day.

That's why Derek is here with his uncle now: to officially say goodbye.

"This feels strange," Peter comments from next to him, tilting his head to the side.

"It does."

"Probably more for me seeing as, y'know," Peter points to a patch of ground to their right, "you killed me right over there."

"You deserved it," Derek defends, unrepentant.

"True. Still, the molotovs were a bit much, don't you think?"

Derek looks at Peter and recalls the horrific burn scars he carried after the fire that destroyed their home. After the heart-to-heart they'd had thanks to Danny a few weeks ago, he supposes his uncle has a point. Nearly killing him with fire again was a little cruel, even if he was out of his mind with bloodlust back then. It wasn't Derek's idea, though, so he just says, "Take it up with Stiles and Jackson."

"Nah…it's all in the past now. No point in dredging it all back up again now."

"Just don't go on any more killing sprees and it can stay that way."

Peter smirks. "Cross my heart."

"Good."

"Unless something happens to cause one, of course. Then all bets are off."

Derek growls warningly. "Peter…"

"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch, nephew," the eldest Hale scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I truly am sorry about what I did—some of it, anyway—but that beast is still inside me."

"Don't let it out again."

"Like I said, I won't. Unless something happens to bring it out."

"Like what?"

"Like someone coming along and threatening our new little family of misfits. Especially you and Danny."

Derek frowns, not having expected this reasoning. "I still don't think that would be good."

Peter turns his body to the alpha and raises an eyebrow at him. "Like you'd remain perfectly calm and clear-headed if someone threatened Stiles."

Unwillingly, Derek has to admit that his uncle is right. "Touché."

"Exactly. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. I have control of the beast now, but I'll have no problem letting it out and ripping into those who really deserve it."

With a sigh, Derek nods his acceptance. "Whatever."

Quiet surrounds them for a couple of minutes, the only sounds breaking it being the intermittent chirping of birds or the rustling of small wildlife deeper in the trees. Then Peter speaks again:

"Kate deserved it."

Derek says nothing and stares again at his old bedroom window.

"She deserved everything she got and more," Peter continues, taking a step closer.

"Stop it, Peter," Derek says, tensing up because the deceased Argent is understandably still a major sore spot for him.

"No. I need to say this, and I think this is the best place for it. I know we already talked a bit about this, but there's one more thing I need to get off my chest. If you'll let me."

"Fine. Just make it quick."

"Kate was to blame for everything that happened, but for a long time I also blamed you," Peter confesses, shame clear in his voice. "She was responsible for that, too, for making you complicit, albeit you didn't know it at the time. I don't regret killing her. I don't regret killing everyone else who had a part to play in the fire that took our family and our home from us. But I _do_ regret shouldering you with some of the blame when it was all Kate's and her accomplices' to carry."

Derek listens carefully and clenches his hands into fists. Not out of anger but because he is being plagued by too many other emotions.

"I hated you _and_ Laura for fleeing to New York and leaving me alone in that hospital bed after the fire," he says. "I suppose that, maybe somewhere deep down, I saw what I did to Laura that night as an act of vengeance as well as a way to gain the power I needed to take on Kate. Killing two birds with one stone. I never would've done that if I was in my right mind…but I can't take it back now. All I can do is tell you and keep reminding you that you're blameless. You were a victim in all of it—"

"Peter."

"—and I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Derek turns to his uncle with the intention of asking him to stop, but he only gets as far as opening his mouth. As soon as they are facing either other, Derek finds himself wrapped up in a tight hug, Peter's arms coming around him and refusing to let go, even as Derek just stands in place and doesn't reciprocate for a long time. He is too stunned to.

He doesn't know what to do. He hasn't been hugged by anyone but Stiles in months—and it has been a decade and a half since his uncle was the one hugging him. Derek thinks the last time was just after he turned ten years old, and even then it was never like this. Back then, each hug was because Peter knew how much Derek didn't like it and he derived pleasure from torturing his nieces and nephew. Once Derek turned ten, he started retaliating rather viciously every time Peter tried to embrace him, to the point where his mother had grounded him and given Peter an alpha command to never try again unless Derek actually invited it.

This hug is nothing like the ones Peter gave him as a child, though.

It's tender in a way.

Once he overcomes his shock, Derek hesitantly reciprocates the hug. He still isn't used to this new, softer side of Peter being revealed to him and thinks it might just be one of the strangest things that has ever happened to him. But he can't deny that deep down he likes it. The alpha in him is contented by finally being on good terms with the last remaining family member they have left.

"Alright, I'm done," Derek says after a few moments, releasing his uncle.

Peter is slower to withdraw from the embrace, but when he does his expression is no longer earnest. It's replaced by mischievousness again, the familiarity of which actually comforts Derek.

In sync, both Hales face their old home one last time. Each of them says goodbye in their own way without words until Peter nods to himself, spins on his heel and walks back to where Derek's Camaro is parked at the entrance to the clearing. Derek lingers with his eyes on the front door of the house for a short while longer, but eventually he manages to let go of all the pain it causes him and feels like a herculean weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when he trails after his uncle to the car.

* * *

_\- Monday, August 15th, 2011 -_

When Stiles walks downstairs to grab breakfast before his first day of junior year, he finds his dad and Derek in the kitchen. His dad is already in his uniform. He eats hurriedly, a clear sign that he is minutes away from setting off for another shift at the station. Derek is dressed in a pair of paint-stained black jeans and a heather-grey tank top, all ready to leave for work as well.

"Hey, son," the sheriff greets in between bites of toast.

Derek just shoots him a smile.

"Hey," Stiles echoes. He drops his backpack inside the door and plants a quick kiss on Derek's bristly cheek on his way to the coffee pot, which is thankfully still half full.

"Aren't you going to be late?" his dad asks him.

Stiles checks the time on his phone and swears quietly to himself. "Yeah, if I don't leave right now."

"I'll drive you," Derek offers, leaving the kitchen ahead of him.

After filling his travel mug with lukewarm coffee, Stiles picks up his backpack and shouts, "Bye!" over his shoulder as he follows Derek down the hall and into the foyer. The alpha is waiting for him with his shoes on and his car keys in hand, the front door already unlocked and open. Stiles hastily shoves his feet into his own shoes and then walks outside with Derek, down to the driveway and around to the passenger side of the Camaro.

"You sure you don't mind driving me?" Stiles enquires once they are both inside.

Derek shakes his head and sticks the key in the ignition. "It's no trouble. It won't make me late."

"Alright. Thanks, Sourwolf."

"Anytime."

* * *

When Derek brings the car to a stop outside the high school, Stiles spots the rest of the pack already gathered at the bottom of the front steps, presumably waiting for him. Amazingly, Derek managed to get him there a few minutes before the first bell is due to ring, so there are other students still outside as well, chatting amongst each other and swapping long stories of their summers.

"Here we are," Derek says, pulling up the parking brake.

Stiles chuckles. "Thanks for the ride."

"I should be on break when you get out, so I'll pick up you, too, if you want?"

"That'd be great."

Stiles opens the passenger door, gets out and hears Derek do the same on the other side of the car. The alpha walks around the front and joins him on the curb, drawing the curious and lecherous stares of several of Stiles' peers.

Derek seems to notice their gazes as well. "Have a good day," he says, grinning cheekily down at Stiles.

"Y-you, too," Stiles responds, at a loss as he always is whenever Derek turns that grin on him.

Whispers float to them on the breeze as several of the other students ask their friends who the super hot guy is.

In the next second, Derek pulls Stiles close so that their fronts are pressed together and kisses the living daylights out of him. Stiles' backpack slips off of his shoulder and hits the ground hard, but he barely notices because Derek's tongue is in his mouth and his large hands are cupping his cheeks. It's automatic now how Stiles' arms come around Derek to bring them even tighter together, his fingers curling in the back of Derek's tank top.

Someone wolf-whistles, the sound piercing the air and bringing the kiss to an end.

Stiles licks his swollen lips. "What was that for?"

"I had to make sure everyone knows you're taken," Derek answers with a shrug. "See you this afternoon."

Stiles stares as Derek gets back in his car and drives off. His feet are glued to the spot and he doesn't move until Lydia comes and gets him.

"You two certainly put on a show," the redhead comments amusedly.

"Y-yeah…"

The strap of his backpack back over his shoulder, Stiles moves with Lydia to where the rest of the pack waits by the front steps. On their way he sees several girls and a couple of the guys standing nearby shooting him looks filled with jealousy, which delights him.

"Way to go, Stiles!" Erica cheers, holding up her palm for a high-five when he is close enough.

Blushing furiously, Stiles slaps his palm against hers.

Now that the pack is complete—minus their alpha—they all enter the main school building and venture through the halls. As he walks, Stiles ruminates on how different his life is compared to the same time last year. Back then he only had one friend; he was basically ostracised by the rest of the student body; he was picked on frequently by Jackson and a few of the other guys on the lacrosse team; and he was hopelessly pining after Lydia, who wouldn't give him the time of day, no matter what he did to try to grab her attention.

Now all of that has changed.

Stiles has more friends than he can handle. Other students will actually talk to him if he strikes up a conversation with them. He doesn't get picked on anymore, and anyone who would ever dare to try would get their asses handed to them by Erica. He no longer thinks he is in love with Lydia and he has Derek in his life now, an amazing, unbelievably sexy man with a huge heart.

He's happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all he wrote for this fic! I hope you all enjoyed the ride, and that you found this to be a satisfying conclusion. :)
> 
> There were obvious hints at the start of this chapter of bottom!Derek happening eventually, but as this was the _last_ chapter of this fic, you won't actually see it here. I included it as a way to warm myself up to the idea. When I got into this fandom back in early 2014, I detested the idea of bottom!Derek. It just never sat well with me. But lately I've been thinking: that's not really fair, is it? Derek's ass deserves to be worshipped just as much as Stiles', so why the hell shouldn't he feel the pleasure of getting fucked into a mattress, too? I've also recently received a couple of PWP prompts which feature bottom!Derek, so this chapter was a way of testing the waters per se.
> 
> If you haven't checked out my [PWP series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/887604) and are interested in 100,000+ words of pure filth, you should. Also, now that this is done, I'll be focusing more of my attention of my latest work, _[The Curse of Stiles Stilinski](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582973)_. Check that out too if you liked this. ;)
> 
> **P.S. Don't forget to subscribe to me to be notified when my future fics go live, which will all be Sterek. I've got some good stuff planned. And feel free to check out my past fics if you haven't already.**


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